


Bets And Broken Wings

by mattiebluebird (ScarlettBond)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Wings, Demiromantic Logan Sanders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake friendship AU, Graysexual Logan Sanders, I’m sorry if my characterization is off, Logan thought he was aroace for a long time, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Polyamorous relationship, Quoiromantic Patton Sanders, Remy has chronic fatigue, Remy has photophobia, Remy is here and queer as hell, Swearing, There's a lot of fluff but also a lot of angst, Thomas Sanders is an actual character, Unsympathetic Remus, Wingfic, Wings, asexual Roman Sanders, bad parenting (not physical or verbal abuse but like ...it’s there), demisexual Virgil Sanders, mentions of bullying, mentions of past abusive/manipulative relationships, panromantic Roman Sanders, slowburn, so are Joan and Talyn, so much mutual pining, the laws of aviation Do Not Matter, unsympathetic Deceit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettBond/pseuds/mattiebluebird
Summary: Virgil has a genetic disorder that makes his wings too small to ever dream of flying, and Roman and Logan made a bet. It's more complicated than it sounds.





	1. Logan And Roman Are Oblivious to The Possible Consequences of Their Actions Because They're Dumb And Proud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: non-explicit description of an abusive relationship, unsympathetic Deceit, unsympathetic Remus, blink-and-you'll-miss-it allusion to suicide/suicidal thoughts. I think that's it, but if there's any more tell me and I'll add them.

By the end of his sophomore year of high school, Virgil had decided that Patton Charleton was the only good thing left in this world.

Maybe not the _only_ thing ...but definitely the only thing worth noting. He was the kindest person Virgil had ever met, and the only person on this Earth he would die for, kill for, and suffer through intense humiliation for. He truly did not deserve the blessing that was Patton.

Patton was kind in that oblivious way that was easy to hide from. He was easy to keep secrets from, and he never pryed, but everything about him made you want to spill your secrets to him ...which is probably how they became friends in the first place.

Well, in freshman year they'd been ... _acquaintances_ of sorts, he supposed. Patton made it a point to talk to everyone in the school at least once, a sincere conversation, so it was kind of hard _not_ to be his acquaintance. But after The Thing That Happened in Sophmore Year Which Shall Not be Discussed Now or Ever (which even Patton didn't know every detail of), Patton had been there for Virgil in a way he'd never known before, regardless of the fact that he was the only kid in the school who couldn't fly, and -well, they'd been best friends ever since, and it was junior year now.

Despite all this, he would've happily killed him at this exact moment.

Because Patton -stupid, sappy, good, innocent, _kind_ Patton- had decided that Virgil needed more friends.

Which he did _not_. Like, at all. As far as he was concerned, Virgil had exactly as many friends as he needed.

But, still. Strangers surrounding him, obnoxiously huge wings bumping into him, sitting at _his_ lunch table. He didn't like it, and he made this known in every way possible.

Roman King and Logan Gray, people he knew relatively well considering they were both friends of Patton (Patton hung out with them a lot, and Virgil hung out with Patton a lot, so their duos overlapped quite a bit), were sitting on either side of him, wings bumping into him, caging him in, causing certain memories to rise that - _no_. He was _not_ thinking about that, not right now, not here, not around _them_.

Virgil smacked away Roman's obnoxiously large red and white (gold-tipped, no less!) wing. "I'd prefer it if I could eat without feathers in my mouth, thanks," he snapped. He pushed away Logan's black (the feathers shimmered with indigo undertones, like a raven's) wing, and tucked his own wings even closer to his back, attempting to make them as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Virgil had always hated his wings, hated them with fiery passion. They made him an easy target for bullying, for _other_ types of manipulation, a reason for his parents to hate him, made him vulnerable to isolation and depression (honestly, if Patton hadn't found him in time -nope, not thinking of it, not thinking of it, not thinking of it ...) They were far too small to fly with -only seven feet from tip to tip compared to the average fifteen foot wingspan- and an exceptionally ugly color -not sleek black or dark russet or bright red, but a smokey shade of gray with light purple tips. They were practically useless, but he wasn't willing to get wing detachment surgery quite yet -and even if he _was_ , he wouldn't have the money for it.

It was only recently that he'd begun to wear his wings outside his hoodie, and only because Patton insisted it was unhealthy for them. He was right -Virgil's wings were always cramped by the end of the day and fluffed beyond recognition- but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Roman glared at him. "Keeping them folded makes them cramp," he complained, spreading them even further until they formed a solid feathery wall behind Virgil. "They need room to _grow_."

Virgil muttered something that resembled "Not if I cut them off they won't" before promptly picking up his tray and moving around the table to sit beside Patton. Patton, at least, kept his wings to himself -not as tightly curled as Virgil's of course, but not nearly as spread as Roman or Logan's, instead keeping them draped at his side in a relaxed manner.

Patton's wings were definitely Virgil's favorite, and he didn't say that lightly. Usually, he hated _all_ wings -they took up so much damn space, and they were so bright, and just unnecessary in general- but Patton's were ...okay. They both contradicted and complimented his personality: Solid sky blue, the lightest shade, each feather fading into white to create a cloud effect. The feathers were broad and nearly always rumpled, but Patton never seemed to care. Unlike Roman, he didn't spend excess time preening or grooming them. Virgil could respect that.

"-about you?" Virgil was suddenly shoved into the conversation when he realized the three were staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"What?" He said, and he didn't mean for it to sound so snappish, but it seemed that was the default setting for his voice.

"What are your plans for after graduation?" Logan said, pushing up his glasses.

Virgil shrugged. "I was planning on becoming a therapist," he said casually.

Roman blinked. "Therapist ...like, _psychological_ therapist?" He asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah," Virgil said, instantly on guard. His wings reflected it, fluffing up and spreading a bit.

And, of course, Roman started to laugh.

"I'm sorry -just - _you_ , a therapist-" He said, wheezing.

"What?" Virgil snapped, feeling his wings twitch, feathers rising in alarm. He forced them back down once again.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, Virgil," Logan said matter-of-factly, pushing up his glasses again. "You don't have the ... _friendliest_ personality. It's hard to imagine you as a therapist."

Virgil snorted, at a loss for words -at least, words he'd say around Patton. He turned and glared at aforementioned person as if to say _"Look what you got me into"_. Patton was narrowing his eyes at the pair across from them. "Virgil _is_ friendly," he argued.

And, okay, Virgil couldn't quite blame Roman for bursting into laughter at that. He didn't exactly have an outwardly friendly demeanor. But, still -being a therapist was his dream, and if he could help just _one_ person through the sort of things he'd been through, it'd be worth it.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _I'm thinking about it again_.

He decided to bail before the thought triggered a landslide of memories and he had a panic attack right in the middle of the cafeteria. Standing up, he threw one last glare at Patton (who didn't deserve that, he knew, he was just trying to help, but _still_ ) before stalking away, leaving the tray for the others to handle out of pure spite.

But _of course_ , he heard footsteps behind him, followed by Patton yelling, "Wait, Virgil!" And yeah, maybe he slowed down his angry power walk just a little for him, but so what? _So what_?

"Virgil, my Shadowling, I'm sorry about them. Roman isn't a _mean_ guy, he just doesn't think and Logan -well, Logan's not good with the whole friendship thing ..." He trailed off as Virgil stared at him with his patented Neutral Look, which he used incredibly often.

Virgil sighed and slowed to a stop in the hallway. No one was wandering the halls, so no one would see or hear them.

"It's fine, Patton," he said, reluctantly allowing his wings to relax a little. They'd been tauter than a bowstring for the last thirty minutes, and they were beginning to feel sore. He hated getting wing cramps, so he really had no choice. It totally had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was alone with Patton. Nope, not at all.

He ground his teeth and gritted out. "I know you like them-" Patton blushed. Virgil ignored this. "They just ...get on my nerves," he said, unwilling to say _"make me uncomfortable"_. Nope, that was just -the phrasing was too personal, and he didn't want to make this more awkward than it already was.

Virgil knew that Patton's feelings toward Roman and Logan were ...complicated, to say the least. Patton was quoiroromantic (pronounced "kwa-romantic"), which bcasically meant the line between platonic and romantic love was practically non-existent for him. He had a very strong feeling toward Roman and Logan, but whether it was platonic, romantic, or something in-between, he was unsure. They liked to call it his Whatever.

Virgil wasn't surprised, to be honest -maybe a little confused at first, but never surprised. Patton's heart was the size of the moon. He'd probably prefer to love everyone and think about what kind of love it was later. Virgil doubted if he'd ever hated a single person in his entire life -well, except for Dee and Remus, but that was a huge _Nope Territory_ of thinking.

"I mean, I know they're nice people. I just-" Virgil sighed and shook his head. "I'm just being melodramatic, I guess."

He didn't want to say that every time he looked at Roman he thought of his brother, which made him think of Dee, which made him nearly have a panic attack, or that Logan had always unnerved him. He wouldn't do that to Patton, who would surely do something stupid like offer to stop hanging out with them when Virgil was around, which was practically all the time.

He swallowed thickly. "I guess I overreacted a little," he admitted, which was probably true. If he walked out of the room every time someone made him upset, he'd have already circled the Earth three times over.

"Maybe, but they didn't have to be so mean about it. I know it's your dream and all -being a therapist. They shouldn't have mocked you like that," Patton argued.

Virgil sighed. "You're all heart Patton, that's your problem. I'll be fine. It's not the end of the world or anything."

Patton gave him a searching look through the lens of his glasses. “Roman isn’t his brother, Virgil,” he said softly.

Virgil scratched the back of his neck. “I know,” he said in the same tone. He wasn’t sure if it was true.

Patton went in for the hug, and Virgil tried his best not to go rigid. He sort of succeeded, even managed to half-heartedly wrap his arms around Patton's torso. He still wasn't good at hugs, but he appreciated them nonetheless.

When they pulled away, Patton smiling, Virgil frowned and said, "However, I am _not_ going back to that cafeteria today."

They hid in the library together until next period.

* * *

Virgil’s first and only relationship started with a compliment and ended in disaster.

In case you couldn’t tell, Virgil was pretty isolated as a kid. Once the few friends he did have started to fly, he got left behind, and bullying was pretty much a constant throughout his entire life. When he got diagnosed with Broken Wing Syndrome (BWS), a genetic disorder passed on from his great-grandfather that affected his wings -some grew twisted or were completely useless, his were unusually small- his parents said it was okay, but he heard his mother sobbing that night.

So, in freshman year he was pretty much alone and the bullying was worse than ever.

Dee had been a senior at the time, which should’ve been his first red flag, but Virgil had been young, dumb, and lonely. The perfect target.

One day Dee stopped Remus -Roman's big brother, but Virgil didn't know that at the time- from picking on him about his wings. Remus had been stretching Virgil's wings to their full extent, twisting them in process so he could gawk at them.

Dee had put a stop to it -Remus listened to him, probably out of fear, but Virgil didn't know that at the time either.

Dee was kind in the beginning. Very kind -before he met Patton, kinder than anyone he'd ever known. Dee thought Virgil's wings were beautiful, and he wrapped his own wings around him in crushing hugs all the time.

Things got steadily worse over the year.

Throughout it all -the insults and the lying and the controlling, manipulative behavior- Virgil held out hope that Dee would revert to his kindness. The little glimpses of it he got kept him hoping.

He lost that hope when Dee dumped him a week before his graduation.

* * *

Virgil had already decided there was no way the four of them could be friends. Roman and Logan hated each other, for one thing -they argued almost constantly, Roman calling Logan a nerd and Logan calling Roman things that were impossible to pronounce (Logan had a vocabulary the size of Alaska).

For another, Virgil hated both Logan and Roman. Roman, being the most popular kid in the school (he was in theatre _and_ he was captain of the flight team, the attention hog he was), mocked Virgil at almost every turn, calling him "creepy" or "emo" (okay, that last one might've been fair -it had been Virgil's decision to wear black eyeshadow, after all- but that didn't give Roman permission to be an ass about it). Logan was only slightly better, with his passive-aggressive comments on Virgil's wings and intelligence (Logan thought everyone was dumber than him).

Simply put, they were such a volatile mixture he was surprised they hadn't exploded just from being in such close proximity.

However, the four of them did share one period: Flight practice.

Virgil only attended because anyone with wings was legally required to. He was at least supposed to stretch his wings, but the coach had never insisted; Virgil mostly just sat on the bleachers and listened to music while watching the other students fly. They used to mock him during flight practice when he tried to mingle and stretch his wings -he'd much rather die than go through that again.

It was the middle of winter, so Virgil was able to wear his all-black hoodie outside, for which he was grateful (for Florida this kind of weather was rare, even in winter).

There was a metallic _thump_ and a shadow fell over Virgil. He looked up to see Roman standing on the seat below him, smiling down at him, gigantic wings blocking out the sun (the sun shone through his feathers the same way light shone through the skin of your hand, making the feathers seem to glow like fire and the effect was amazing, but Virgil wouldn't say that aloud). He'd clearly just performed a perfect landing and was showing off, looking for praise.

Well, Virgil wouldn't give him any. "What do you want?" He asked, voice neutral as he paused his music and took out his earbuds.

Roman ruffled his feathers and folded his wings to his sides. "To apologize," he said.

Out of all the words that could've come from his mouth, those shocked him the most. Virgil was sure he would've been less surprised if Roman had pulled out a bloody kitchen knife and said, "I'm a murderer."

"What?" Virgil asked, blinking.

"For earlier. You know, laughing when you said you wanted to be a therapist and all," Roman said, sounding distinctly grumpy.

 _Too_ grumpy, actually. All at once Virgil got it. "Patton told you to apologize, didn't he?" He accused, scowling up at him. Of course. Roman was far too proud to ever apologize to someone like Virgil on his own. Patton, maybe -an actual friend- but not _Virgil_.

Roman’s wings fluffed up indignantly. “He did _not_! What, you think for me to do something good someone else has to _make_ me?” He demanded, sounding genuinely angry.

“Yes,” Virgil said, not feeling the slightest bit guilty. He could tell just from his reaction that what he’d said was true.

Roman scoffed. "Okay, he did. But still, I resent that fact that _both_ of you assumed I wouldn't have done it myself."

"Would you have?" Virgil asked, genuinely curious. He leaned back and set his elbows on the seat behind him so he could look Roman in the eyes without getting a crook in his neck. His hoodie ended up falling down in the process -he didn't bother to pull it back up, though he knew his messy brown hair probably looked like a rat's nest right about now. It was falling into his eyes, so he wiped it away.

" _Yes_ ," Roman said vehemently, folding his arms. "I'm not _evil_ , unlike _some_ people," he said bitterly.

Before Virgil could ask what " _some_ people" he was referring to, there was another metallic _thump_ , followed by a muttered " _solanum_ ".

Roman sighed heavily and turned to Logan. "Of course you'd show up and ruin my heartfelt apology."

Virgil snorted. "That barely counted as an apology, and it _certainly_ wasn't heartfelt."

Roman ignored him. "What do you want?" He asked Logan.

Well then, it seemed things were back to normal. Virgil was being ignored once again. To be honest, he preferred it that way. Less drama. He put his earbuds back in, pulled his hoodie up, and was about to unpause his music when, to his surprise, Logan turned to him, ignoring Roman completely.

"I came to apologize," he said, straightening his tie. Logan, of course, wore a black polo shirt with cargo pants and a blue tie. Virgil had always thought he dressed like a college professor.

Virgil sighed and yanked his earbuds out. "Let me guess," he snarked, "Patton told you to?"

He was seriously going to have a word with him. Speaking of which, where _was_ Patton? Virgil glanced across the field and saw him watching them, not even trying to hide it. In fact, when he saw Virgil looking, he had the audacity to _wave_.

Virgil tried his utmost best to glare his displeasure across the field.

Logan made a puzzled expression. "No," he said. "Patton didn't say anything. I'm apologizing of my own accord."

And Virgil knew immediately that he was telling the truth. Logan never lied, even when it would be better for him to keep his mouth shut. That somehow made his insults so much worse.

"Huh," Virgil said, Neutral Voice returning as he leaned back again. "Thanks." He was grateful, but he'd die before he let Logan see just how much.

Roman waved his hands incredulously. "Are you _serious_?" He shouted, wings spreading behind him to emphasize his point. "When _I_ apologize and say no one made me you're immediately suspicious, but when Mr. _Know-It-All_ does it you believe him?"

Logan gave him the flattest of looks and pushed his glasses up. "Perhaps I'm just more trustworthy," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Or maybe you're just a really bad liar," Roman countered, immediately defensive.

"Or maybe I hate you both _and_ Logan is a really bad liar," Virgil suggested.

They ignored him, descending into petty name-calling within seconds. Virgil managed to move to a seat several yards away without either noticing.

He rolled his eyes and continued listening to his music undisturbed.

* * *

Of course, in doing so he didn't hear the rest of the argument, and that would've been _really_ useful.

"Of course people like me!" Logan snapped, frustrated. "Patton does!"

Roman rolled his eyes. "Patton likes _everyone_. He doesn't count. Face it: You couldn't get anyone else to like you if your life depended on it," he said, looking him up and down judgmentally, lips pursed.

Logan scowled. "I _could_ if I wanted to, but more friends would just distract me from my studies." He pushed his glasses up to emphasize his point.

Roman looked him in the eyes. "Prove it. A bet: Make _one_ friend by the end of ..." He waved a hand in the air. "Say, this month?" It was January eighth, so that would give Logan twenty three days to complete the bet.

Logan crossed his arms. "Why would I do that?" He asked.

"Uh, to prove you're not an emotionless robot that's gonna die alone and unloved?" Roman said, as if it were obvious.

And -okay, that hurt. A lot more than he cared to admit. Logan's scowl deepened. "I will accept your bet, but only if you participate as well."

Roman made an offended noise, feathers ruffling. " _Me_? In case you haven't noticed, Logan, _I_ , unlike _you_ , have plenty of friends."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's a difference between friends and admirers, is there not?" He asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Over half the school admires you, true, but I would hardly call them your _friends_. Make a new friend, someone who previously hated or felt indifferent to you, like, say ..." He waved his hand and tried to think of someone who hated Roman. His eyes landed on Virgil, who was sitting several yards away.

Logan smirked. "Virgil Lockhart," he drawled, raising an eyebrow.

Roman's expression was priceless. His jaw dropped, and he whipped around to glance at Virgil, whose head was bobbing peacefully, totally oblivious to their conversation.

"No," Roman said, shaking his head. " _Friends_ with Stormcloud? Even _I_ , with my considerable charm, couldn't accomplish that."

"Hey, _you're_ the one who claimed to have superior social skills, but if you can't back it up I guess we could always call the bet off ..." Logan said, holding his hands up.

"I can -I mean, I _do_ have superior social skills," Roman huffed. There was a beat of silence as he seemed to chew it over. Finally, he grumbled, "Fine."

Logan opened his mouth to speak, and Roman raised his hand, cutting him off in a grand gesture. "On _one_ condition."

"Name it."

" _You_ have to try to make friends with Dark and Stormy too."

Logan blinked rapidly and pushed up his glasses. "I don't see what that would accomplish," he said, glancing at Virgil. He personally found the boy to be overdramatic and, quite frankly, rather unnerving.

"Well, I figure if I'm going to be making friends with a human _cactus_ , you should suffer as well," Roman said disdainfully.

"I chose Virgil because he is one of the few people in this school who isn't tripping over himself to win your approval. I, on the other hand, have a wide array of people to choose from who have more or less neutral feelings toward me."

Roman chuckled. "First of all, do you _hear_ yourself right now? You're just proving my point. Second of all, you chose a person whose personality is more reminiscent of a hacksaw than a human, not a neutral party. I repeat, if I have to suffer, so do you."

Logan glared at Roman, who clearly wasn't going to give this up. Finally, he sighed and pushed up his glasses. "Very well. So, whoever can become friends with Virgil by the end of the month wins ... _what_ , exactly?"

Roman smiled. "Well, when _I_ win I get to rub it in your face, and in the alternate universe where _you_ win, you get to rub it in _my_ face."

And the downright infuriating smugness in his voice when he said it, coupled with the mental image, is what made Logan say, "Deal."

Just as they shook on it, the coach whistled for them to go inside. If Virgil caught them staring, he didn't say anything.

* * *

Virgil tossed his backpack to the side the moment he entered his home. After carrying it around all day, he was always ready to throw the damn thing off as soon as possible.

He stretched for a moment -when he stood in the hallway and faced the wall he could easily spread his wings to their full extent- before immediately retreating to his room. His dad was still at work, so no one was home.

Ever since his mother's death when he was eight, the house had felt strangely empty. His dad mostly worked, and when he was home he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. The few conversations they had were short and awkward. Virgil knew his dad loved him, he just got the sense he didn't know how to deal with him these days ...especially since there was the problem of his wings.

He knew his dad had been the captain of his flight team in both high school and college. He never mentioned it -at least, not around Virgil- but one day he'd been cleaning the house and he'd found the trophies shoved to the back of his closet, MICHAEL LOCKHART engraved on them in golden letters. Virgil had stared at them for a moment before closing the closet door and walking away.

He didn't bring it up. He already knew how disappointed his parents had been about his disorder. Virgil's mother had blamed herself, since it came from her side of the family -which he found ridiculous, but it made sense in a way. If Virgil wasn't gay, he'd be terrified of passing the disorder on as well.

He shook off the train of thought and opened the door to his room. One thing he could be grateful for -his dad was an agent for a sizeable company, so they always had plenty of money. Virgil spent most of his allowance on clothes and random shit that fit his aesthetic, and he held absolutely no shame about that. If he was going to wallow in self-pity, he was going to do it _comfortably_ , goddammit (though he had taken down his spider curtains because of Patton's arachnophobia - _shut up_ , they really terrified him, okay?).

As such, his comforter was gray-and-black, as were most of his possessions. Slowly, though, Patton's influence had sunk its fangs into the place -there was a stuffed kitten he'd given to Virgil as a present sitting on his bed (he'd never had the heart to throw it away), several cardigans -Patton was constantly leaving them and forgetting to take them back- and a few pictures of them together spread over his desk or tacked to his wall. In the pictures Virgil usually seemed dejected, but occasionally he was smiling, and Patton was beaming in every single one.

Virgil sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _Damn it, I love that dork_ , he thought.

Lately Patton had been spending more and more nights at his house, and Virgil was seriously afraid his room would be covered in rainbows and pictures of kittens by the end of the year. Either that or he'd just melt into a puddle from having his crush sleep _literally two feet_ away from him, in the _same bed_ , for _nights on end_. Or, possibly even worse, _both_ would happen (he shuddered internally at the thought).

Virgil shrugged off his hoodie and laid it over his desk chair before grabbing a make-up wipe and cleaning off his eyeshadow. Over the past two years, the hoodie and eyeshadow had become a permanent facet of his personality -Patton was probably the only one who'd seen him without them since freshman year. It almost scared Virgil, how important Patton had become to him. Almost.

Virgil sighed and flopped onto his bed face first, wings spread to either side. He allowed himself to nearly pass out from lack of oxygen before rolling off the bed and grabbing a book from his shelf. True to form, he read mostly horror and murder mystery, but he also had a sizeable collection of psychology books. He listened to music while he read the latest one.

Yeah, that's how Virgil's day usually went (when Patton or his dad wasn't there, at least, which was most days).  
A few hours passed, most of which he spent on Tumblr after he got tired of reading, before he got a text from Patton.

_Hey, I know it's a school night and all, but can I come over?_

Virgil allowed himself a small smile before typing.

_Of course, duh. You're always welcome here._

Virgil's thumb hovered for a moment over the send button before a sudden flash of anxiety made him delete the second sentence. _Then_ he sent the text.

_Of course, duh._

_Great, text you when I get there uwu_

Virgil snorted at the ridiculous use of the "uwu" before going back to Tumblr, waiting for Patton's text. Sure enough, he got it about fifteen minutes later.

He went and answered the door. Patton's parents got him his own car on his sixteenth birthday, so he could drive himself to his own sleepovers.

Patton tackled him in a bear hug the moment the door was open. Virgil let out a breath of a laugh and patted him on the back.

"Missed you too, buddy," he said, smiling.

Patton stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Hey, my dad's not home, so we can stay up all night and watch Disney movies if we want," Virgil suggested, walking toward his bedroom.

"Nah, I'm sort of tired, kiddo," Patton said.

Virgil frowned and looked at Patton, examining him. As a matter of fact, his eyes _did_ seem to be slightly puffy, and there were definitely bags under them. "First off, don't call me kiddo. Second of all, have you been _crying_?"

"Nope. It's just the cold and all," Patton said, wiping his nose.

Virgil scowled and crossed his arms. "Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Charleton. Now spill."

Patton looked at him, and the fact that he didn't tell Virgil off for swearing was what worried him most. Virgil uncrossed his arms and tried to soften his expression. "Seriously, Patton, are you okay, dude?" He asked in the softest voice he could muster. "Is ...it about your parents?"

Patton's parents had been fighting for as long as Virgil had known him, probably longer. Patton nodded.

"I think they're getting a divorce," he whispered, and burst into tears.

Unfortunately, this was not the first time this had happened. It was, in fact, part of the reason he'd been staying over so much. Virgil silently cursed Patton's parents for the umpteenth time before gently putting his arm around Patton's shoulder, making it easy for him to shove Virgil away if he wanted to.

He didn't. He crumpled into him, and after a moment of hesitation Virgil wrapped his wing around him as well and led him to his room. He set him down on the bed, wrapped them both in a blanket, and gently took the glasses off his face so he didn't end up breaking them. Then he let Patton cry it out before he attempted talking.

"Patton ..." He sighed. "Maybe this is for the best. They could be happier divorced," he suggested.

Patton wiped his eyes and shrugged. "I know -I just ...I hate it when they fight like that."

Virgil rubbed his shoulder in (what he desperately hoped was) a soothing manner. "I know, buddy."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Virgil sighed and said he had to take a shower. Patton said he'd go get his overnight bag from the car.

Virgil made them a quick dinner -pizza rolls. While they were in the mircrowave he ducked into the bathroom.

He uncapped his anxiety medication and swallowed the pill dry, not even gagging. After two years of being on/off several different medications, he was more or less used to it.

He got back to Patton _just_ as the pizza rolls got done. The atmosphere was relatively lighter, and after they ate they got ready for bed and went to sleep.


	2. Logan Accidentally Gives Virgil a Panic Attack (But Roman Gets his Number, so, uh ...Win?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Smashes through window holding a starbucks*
> 
> Okay, look, I can explain. A) I didn't think anybody was ACTUALLY interested in this fic except for my friends, and b) I lost confidence in my writing and I was unsure where I wanted to take this plot.
> 
> I'm sorry, the fic's not finished yet, BUT here's three chapters and over fifteen thousand words to make up for it!
> 
> Warnings: Pretty explicit description of flashbacks and a panic attack. Starts when Logan calls Virgil's wings beautiful and goes all the way until the next page break. Nothing really happens except Virgil has to go home for the rest of the day.

Roman groaned when he woke up to his alarm at 5:30 AM sharp, as always.

Yesterday he'd had a flight race against the Falcons, and that had gone until around six o'clock. When he got home he'd had to write a one thousand word essay he'd been putting off untill the last minute, on top of several other pages of homework he hadn't found the time to do. That alone took him over four hours (if he got anything less than an A+ average his dad would flay him alive).

And he'd already been running on less than five hours of sleep from the previous night. Today he had rehearsal, which ran until around six o'clock. After that his dad wanted him to go to a company dinner and impress some people (which he could do easily, but still). Those usually started at nine and ended at around eleven. If he was lucky he'd be able to squeeze in an hour long nap before getting ready.

Roman sighed heavily before flopping back onto the bed. For a moment he considered just staying there, sleeping through the school day ...but he couldn't. He had to get to school early to print out that paper and quickly write the references, he still had three hundred pages of a book to read for English class, if he missed a day he'd have even more work to do the next day, and-

And the bet. He'd almost forgotten.

Out of everything, that bet was what finally convinced him to get out of bed. Roman King had never lost anything in his entire life, much less to a nerd like Logan Gray, and he wasn't about to start _now_.

Roman preferred to take thirty minute showers, which was part of the reason he woke up so early. Another reason was his hair: It had to be blow dryed and flat ironed every day or it would end up looking like -well, like _Virgil's_ hair, he supposed, and the same could be said for his wings. He had bags under his eyes, but those were easily covered with some foundation (if anyone ever accused him of wearing make-up he'd deny it until he was blue in the face, of course).

 _Honestly_ , he thought bitterly as he shoved last night's hastily done homework into his backpack, _How does Logan expect me to become friends with that loser?_

Virgil Lockhart had always creeped him out a bit. He was too quiet, and when he did speak it was always to say something negative and ruin everyone's fun (okay, so maybe he'd been right to chew Roman out for thinking about egging someone's house, but that is _beside the point_ ). Roman had never understood why Patton, the most positive, sunshine-y person he'd ever met, hung out with him.

 _Probably out of pity_ , he thought. It was, after all, the only logical explanation.

* * *

"Hi, Patton!" Roman said cheerfully, sitting down next to him. They had third period together, so he figured this was the perfect time to instigate Phase One of his plan: If Patton was Virgil's best (probably only) friend, then if Roman could get closer to Patton he'd have a reason to talk to Virgil.  
Patton beamed at him. "Hey, Roman!" He said, twirling a pencil in one hand.

Roman chatted with him until the teacher entered the room, after which he was forced to pretend to pay attention. Of course, the entire time he was actually adding to his How to Befriend Virgil plan.

* * *

And Roman wasn't the only one doing so.

At the beginning of lunch, Logan went to the library, planning to check out a few books on psychology. From what he knew, people often became friends through shared interest -like how he and Patton had become friends through chess club- and if Virgil was serious about wanting to become a therapist, perhaps Logan could befriend him through a shared love of psychology.

It helped that Virgil was there at the same time, browsing through the psychology section. The gray-winged boy raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd be interested in psychology," he said, sounding somewhere between vaguely interested and faintly amused.

"Why not?" Logan asked.

Virgil shrugged. "Figured you'd stick to hard science."

"While I find hard science to be useful, the softer ones do have their ...merits," Logan said, pushing up his glasses.

There was a beat of silence as Virgil's eyes flicked intently over him as if he were searching for something. Apparently satisfied, he hmmphed and grabbed a book from the shelf. "Here," he said, holding it out,

"This is one of the first books I read when I got into psychology. It's sort of a self-help book, I guess, but it's ...interesting. You might like it."

" _The Willpower Instinct: How Self-Control Works, Why it Matters, and What You Can Do to Get More of It,_ " Logan read. "Thank you. I'll try to read it."

"You're welcome," Virgil said in a clipped tone before turning and walking toward the check-out counter.

And, well, Logan _did_ have other books to check out, and he _did_ have a pretense to keep up, so he couldn't very well follow him, could he?

* * *

Roman sat next to Patton at lunch, ignoring the curious and bewildered stares from the people he usually sat with -a strange mixture of theatre nerds and flight jocks. He could deal with them later.

Virgil wasn't here yet, wherever he was, so he talked with Patton about a few things, ranging anywhere from Disney movies to schoolwork and extra curriculars (Patton was in the chess club, which was actually where he met Logan. It was one of the most surprising things about him).

Roman just so happened to look up at the exact moment Virgil entered the cafeteria, and he paused mid-sentence. Virgil paused as well, wings twitching as he stared at Roman with a scowl before glancing at Patton, then back at Roman. The scowl almost immediately morphed into his usual gloomy expression; he heaved a deep breath that might've been a sigh or a huff, and walked toward the lunch line without so much as a glance in their direction.

"Well, _hello_ Stormcloud," Roman said when Virgil sat down across from them without saying a word.

" _Hello_ , Princey," Virgil said, throwing Patton a " _wtf?_ " look. Roman saw him shrug back from the corner of his eyes.

"And just where have you been for the last ten minutes?" Roman asked, genuinely interested.

Virgil glared at him, dark hair falling over his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was at the library," he said, then he reached into his backpack and turned to Patton. "I got you something," he said, and the emotion in his voice -shyness, maybe, or faint amusement?- Roman wasn't sure, but it changed his tone completely.

He slid the book across the table and Patton practically screamed as he grabbed it. Roman blinked and rubbed his ear to make sure there was no permanent damage.

"Oh my _God_! You got me the last Magnus Chase book? These literally _just_ came out last week!" Patton squealed.

Virgil's lips twitched in the briefest imitation of a smile -the first time Roman had ever seen him make an expression resembling happy. "They can be ordered online pretty easily," he said, shrugging.

Patton beamed at him. "Thank you," he said.

Virgil ducked down to zip up his backpack, and Roman thought -he _thought_ \- he glimpsed a smile and pink-tinted cheeks, but he couldn't be sure. "You're welcome," Virgil said, sitting up and swiping his hair out of his face.

"Hey, Stormcloud, are you going to the play?" Roman asked, jiggling his leg with excess energy.

Virgil's gaze snapped to him, no longer soft.

"Wasn't planning on it. Why?" He asked, somehow managing to make it sound like a personal insult.

"Um, to watch me star as Romeo and be generally magnificent?" Roman said, raising an eyebrow.

Virgil snorted. "I think I've got better things to do than watch you flounce around on stage for over an hour," he said.

"I highly doubt that," Roman said.

Virgil opened his mouth, presumably to deliver a scathing retort, and Patton cut him off. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, doing a time-out sign. "Virgil, calm down. Roman, stop that. I was actually planning on going to the play; I could drive you and we could go out for food afterward? Roman, you're welcome to join."

Virgil snapped his mouth shut, suddenly seeming guilty. "That'd be great, dude," he told Patton, none of the earlier bite present in his tone.

"Yeah, sounds nice. I'll pay," Roman added.  
Patton smiled at him. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Roman _definitely_ saw Virgil glowering at them before he rolled his eyes and yanked up his hood, retreating into himself like a caterpillar into its chrysalis.

 _Jeez_ , he thought. _Is there anything that doesn't piss this guy off?_

* * *

The answer, it seemed, was no.

Roman learned this the hard way during flight practice.

As always, Virgil was sitting on the bleachers, not participating in the exercises. Roman decided that he needed a more aggressive approach if he was going to make friends with him, so he flew over (executing a _perfect_ landing, by the way).

"Why don't you ever stretch your wings?" He asked, sitting down next to him.

Virgil scowled and scooted away, putting a good two feet of space between them. "Why do you think?" He snapped, tucking his wings even more firmly against his back.

Roman would not be so easily deterred. "You really should. It can't be healthy for them to be so tightly folded all the time," he said.

Now that he thought about it, it really _couldn't_ be that healthy for them. In fact, he recalled that for most of sophomore year Virgil had worn his wings inside his hoodie, which would've required them to be even _more_ tightly folded than they were now. Roman's own wings ached in sympathy at the thought.

"As much as I loathe to admit it, Roman is correct," a voice said, almost causing him to jump out of his skin. He looked up to see Logan standing on the row below them.

Logan fixed Virgil with a frown. "Not stretching your wings for long periods of time, coupled with keeping them as tightly folded as you do, can cause several health problems. They should be used regularly, just like any other muscle."

"Yeah, even if you can't fly, that's no reason to let your wings go to waste." Roman wrinkled his nose at the tattered feathers. "As a matter of fact, when's the last time you groomed them?"

Virgil's scowl deepened as he reached back to stroke a wing. "What's with the sudden interest?" He asked, glaring at them.

"What sudden interest?" Roman asked, feigning innocence.

"We're simply taking note of a friend's poor habits," Logan added, pushing up his glasses.

Virgil huffed and shoved his phone into his hoodie pouch. "If this _friend_ stretches their wings, will you leave them alone?" He snapped.

Roman smiled at him. "No promises."

Virgil ignored him and shoved past Logan to get to the field. He jumped a few of the rows, frantically flapping his wings to at least partially carry his weight.

Roman and Logan followed him, but almost the moment his feet touched the turf, the coach called his name.

"Crap, I forgot. Drills for the flight game tomorrow. Duty calls," he said with a mock salute before flying off.

 _Damn_ , he thought. _Now Logan gets a head start._

* * *

Logan watched Virgil stretch his wings high above his head, smokey gray and light purple feathers catching the light. He couldn't help but think that the color scheme fit him perfectly.

Even when stretched to their full extent, Virgil's wingspan was barely half of Logan's, whose wingspan was considered small by most (thirteen feet, ten and a half inches from tip to tip). He could only imagine how dwarfed they'd be in comparison to Roman's behemoth wings -nearly sixteen feet.

"What, just going to watch me stretch my ugly wings?" Virgil snapped, glaring at him.

"Apologies," Logan said amiably, pushing up his glasses and looking away.

There was a moment of awkward silence. "I, uh," Logan started, then cleared his throat. "I wanted to tell you that I started the book. It's very good."

"What, already? You got it, like, last period,"

Virgil said disbelievingly, spreading his wings to the side.

"I'm a fast reader," Logan said simply.

"Yeah, I can see that," Virgil said. He curled his wings in front of his body and spread the feathers, running his hands through them to dislodge the loose ones. In the sunlight, when they were properly exposed, Logan noticed that the down was a grayish purple.

"Your wings aren't ugly," Logan blurted on impulse. "In fact, they're quite the opposite."

Virgil froze, going rigid, eyes wide as he stared at Logan. "Thank you ..?" He said slowly.

"I'm not joking. Your wings are-" He paused, searching for the right word. "Beautiful."

This was apparently the wrong word.

* * *

_Your wings are beautiful, Virgil._

_Oh, no_ , he thought. _Oh, no, why'd you have to say it -say it like that-_

All at once the memories were rushing forward, and no matter how hard he tried they wouldn't go back down. He knew what would happen next, and the thought of another panic attack scared the shit out of him -he was positive that this one would be the one to kill him, and ohmygod he was shaking, when did that happen-?

 _Dee_. Dee used to say that, used to call Virgil's wings beautiful, used to say it in that _exact_ same tone, usually followed by a kiss and -and-

_Shit, everything's tilting, why is everything tilting?_

The world was tilting like he'd just spun around for thirty minutes, and his vision was going blurry at the edges until he couldn't see anything at all. He thinks he crumpled to the ground, but he's not sure because he was a little busy trying to _fucking_ breathe, and no matter how much air he dragged into his lungs it wasn't _enough_ -

 _Holy shit, I'm going to die. I'm going to suffocate to death in the middle of this field, and I am going to_ die _._

"Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod," he wheezed, and then he heard pounding footsteps and he looked up to see the coach -Coach Harold? Coach Howard?- he couldn't remember but he didn't really care about that right now.

The coach leaned down and grabbed his shoulder, which would've been fine except his hand brushed Virgil's wings, which had been splayed out and spasming uncontrollably. Virgil flinched away so violently he almost fell backward, his mind sending up every _DANGER!_ signal it possessed, and then the memories were back, and he _couldn't_ let _anyone_ touch him like that again -he _couldn't_ , he'd _die_ before he let that happen-

Virgil didn't hesitate, just slapped the coach's hand away and snarled at him, "Don't _touch_ my _wings_!" His voice cracked, going unnaturally high.

"Just wait for him to calm down a little," he heard a voice say. "And back up. _All_ of you, back up!"

 _Oh_ , he thought. _That's Patton._

He registered the fact and then went back to freaking out because, as previously mentioned, he _still couldn't fucking breathe,_ and _ow_ , his chest was starting to hurt from all the heaving he was doing, and he was now _certain_ he was going to die-

Virgil brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself, curling his wings around his body in a protective position.

 _Breathe, Virgil_ , he thought. _Breathe. If you don't breathe, you're going to die._

He dragged deep, gulping breaths in and out of his lungs, forcing himself to keep going even when he felt like nothing was happening. He focused on trying to stop his wings from trembling, and _eventually_ , after a _frighteningly_ long time that felt like an eternity, he realized that _maybe_ he wasn't going to die, and the violent spasms tuned down to a slight trembling and breathing became easier.

He slowly uncurled his wings and looked up.  
Patton knelt down in front of him. "Virge," he said, "Can I help you stand?" He held his hands out, palm up, in an unthreatening gesture.

Virgil stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before he blinked and slowly nodded. Patton carefully grabbed him by the forearm and guided him to his feet.  
Virgil's knees buckled and he almost fell, but Patton was stronger than he looked and managed to keep him from falling.

When he saw the circle of people gathered around him, his panic rushed back sevenfold. It became harder to breathe again, and he clucthed at Patton's arm so hard he's pretty sure he left marks. After that, he forced himself to stare at his feet and focus on walking while Patton spoke to him soothingly. He doesn't remember the actual words now, but there was probably something about breathing evenly and moving forward.

The next few minutes were a blur. He knows that he managed to walk into the building and made it halfway to the nurse's office before his knees buckled again and he curled into a fetal position in the halls. When he had calmed down a little he managed to actually make it to the nurse's office. She hurriedly laid him down on a cot and pulled the curtains closed around him.

Virgil tugged his hoodie strings closed and hugged his knees to his chest, closing his eyes and flopping his wing over his head to block out as much light and sound as possible. He stayed in that position for a while, listening to the sounds outside his cubicle.

Eventually, there was a rustle as the curtain opened a little. "Virgil, we called your dad and he's on the way, okay?" The nurse said.

Virgil didn't respond. He felt drained and too weak to move. His heart was still pumping far faster than it was supposed to, his breath wasn't exactly back to normal, and just the thought of the panic he'd experienced was enough to have him shaking all over again.  
In short, he felt like the sack of dog shit someone set on fire and shoved in their neighbor's mailbox. He didn't want to deal with anyone ever again, much less a stranger.

The curtain rustled again as the nurse left.

Blissful silence.

Virgil let his eyes slide closed.

By the time his dad got to the school, Virgil's body had caught up with his mind and calmed the fuck down (for the most part -his knees were still weak and he still felt like a sack of shit, albeit no longer on fire or shoved into a mailbox).

Someone had brought his backpack from the field, so he grabbed that on his way out. He sat in the backseat because he didn't want to deal with his dad giving him concerned (or worse -disapointed) side looks.

Of course, now he had to deal with concerned glances through the rearview mirror, but those were easier to avoid. He gazed out the window with his hood up for the entire fifteen minute drive.

When they got home, Virgil dragged himself to his room and fell onto his bed, slamming the door behind him.

His dad knocked on the door. "You okay, Virge?" He asked.

"I just wanna be left alone," Virgil said flatly, and snapped his hoodie closed.

A moment later there was retreating footsteps as his dad left.

* * *

Roman had been about sixty feet in the air by the time he noticed the crowd gathering on the field.

He signaled to his team to land and descended in a spiral toward the turf. He hit the ground with a thump and folded his wings by his side, frowning at the forming circle.

The crowd wasn't exactly thick, so he could see well enough that Virgil was in the middle, shaking and gasping for breath. Patton was kneeling in front of him while Coach Hanson attempted to push back the crowd.  
Roman saw one of his teammates -Mark Prescott- pull out his phone and begin to film, so he promptly smacked him on the back of the head. "Put the phone up or you're off the team," he said in an uncharacteristically cold voice.

Mark glared at him, but reluctantly put the phone away.

Roman turned back to Virgil, who was hiding behind his wings, still shaking. He made no signs of moving anytime soon.

Roman searched through the crowd until he saw a familiar face: Logan. He slowly made his way over, sliding behind him quietly.

"What happened?" He asked. Logan jumped, glancing back at him.

"I'm -I'm not sure," he admitted, pushing his glasses up.

" _You're_ not sure?" Roman repeated, raising his eyebrows.

" _Yes_ , Roman, I'm not sure. He just ...started shaking, then he collapsed," Logan said, sounding worried. "It doesn't seem to be epilepsy, but ..."

Roman frowned and said nothing else.

Nearly ten minutes passed before Virgil slowly folded his wings behind him and looked up at Patton. He'd clearly been crying, but Patton whispered something to him and he nodded.

Patton reached out, ever-so-gently grabbing Virgil by the forearm and pulling him to his feet. You would've thought he was picking up a baby bird with how delicately he did it. They stumbled their way toward the school and -presumably- the nurse's office.

Coach Hanson bellowed at them to get back to their stretches. Grumbling, the students complied.

Of course, now Roman's focus was off for the entire day.

Roman caught Patton in the halls before the next period and asked him about it.

"Is Virgil okay? What happened to him?" Roman asked, and was surprised to find that his concern was genuine. Well, caring about another student's health didn't necessarily mean he liked them -he wasn't evil, after all, not like Remus was.

 _WOAH, back up_ , he thought at himself. _Now is NOT the time to think about your asshole of a brother._

"Um," Patton said, shifting uncomfortably as people rushed past them. "Virgil's fine, but I think you should ask him about it. The -what happened to him, I mean. He ...doesn't like it when I discuss it with people."

"How am I supposed to do that? He never talks to me, and it's not like I have his phone number," Roman scoffed, realizing a second later what he'd just said.

 _Damn, sometimes I'm so smooth I surprise_ myself _._

Patton immediately whipped out a dark blue marker (because he just secretes colorful stationery? Roman didn't know and at this point he was too afraid to ask) and wrote Virgil's phone number on the back of Roman's right hand.

"He'll probably be mad I gave it to you, but he'll just have to deal with it," Patton said with a surprising amount of passive-aggresiveness, putting the cap back on the marker. "I wouldn't try to talk to him until later tonight. He's probably sleeping right now; he needs to wind down after these things," he said in a softer tone.

Roman hurried to his next class, but he couldn't really focus on whatever the teacher was saying, so instead of listening he copied down Virgil's number onto a piece of paper (the chances of the marker staying on his hand until after rehearsal were slim to none). His leg kept bouncing impatiently no matter how much he told it stop.

Most shocking of all, Roman found it hard to focus during rehearsal. And usually rehearsal _helped_ him focus.

By the time he drove home, he was nearly jumping out of his skin with anticipation (it is perfectly acceptable to worry about a friend of a friend, okay?).

When Roman got home he rushed -he means walked- to his room and took out his phone, totally unhurriedly adding Virgil's phone number to his contacts.

He most definitely did not stare at his phone screen for a solid five minutes before typing:

_Hey, u okay?_

About 2.5 seconds later his phone buzzed and another text popped up on screen.

_Who tf is this and how did you get my number?_

_It's Roman, and Patton gave it to me. Just wanted to see if you were okay._

_I'm fine. However, Patton won't be if he continues to give my phone number to strangers_

_I'm not sure what concerns me more, the fact that you think I'm a stranger or the fact that Patton has done this before_

_A few times. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of privacy_

_And you ARE practically a stranger_

_Ouch. Patton gave me your number *because* he was afraid of violating your privacy. He said I should ask you myself what happened at school. R u sure you're okay?_

_It was a panic attack. I'm fine now and I'd rather not talk about it._

_Okay. Are you coming to school tommorow?_

_At the risk of sounding repetitive, why the sudden interest? You've never really cared before_

_You may be a pain in the ass but I still have to deal with you on an almost daily basis, figured I might as well get used to it_

_Is this a peace offering I'm sensing?_

_Depends. Do you accept?_

_Don't know. Will you stop calling me names?_

_Only if you do_

_So no_

_Guess not. How about a temporary truce then?_

_Hmm, I guess that wouldn't kill me. Not right away, at least._

_You know, you're far less irritating in text_

_When am I *ever* irritating?_

_Don't make me block you_

_Okay, okay, jeez_

_Tell you what: I'll accept your offer, but I want a trial period_

_Explain?_

_You have a month to prove you're not an ass or the truce is off_

_Only if you do the same_

_I'm not an ass_

_Neither am I_

_Fine. Just stop spamming me_

_M_

_A_

_K_

_E_

_Oh no_

_M_

_E_

_Please stop_

_B_

_I_

_T_

_C_

_H_

_I changed my mind. You are just as irritating in text as you are in real life_

_Thanks, Stormcloud_

_You're welcome, Princey_

_You never answered my question: *Are* you coming to school tommorow?_

_What, can't wait to see me?_

_You're deflecting_

_Jeez, so many questions. Yes, I'm going to school tomorrow: Much as it sucks, skipping would just make things worse_

_Wise man. Listen, my schedule is free after school tomorrow. You and Patton wanna hang out at the mall or smth?_

_We've been doing this trial month for less than five minutes and you're already sucking up?_

_I am being *friendly*. Not a concept I'd expect you to understand_

_Hmm, do I sense s h a d e ?_

_Maybe. Will you consider?_

_Maybe._

_And I'M the irritating one_

_Yes, you are, and don't you forget it_

Roman snorted and began to type a witty reply, but he was interrupted by a loud knock on his door. He jumped, nearly dropping his phone, and hurriedly x-ed out of the tab as his mom walked in (not that he was doing anything wrong, of course, but still).

"Roman, dear, why aren't you getting ready? The party starts in an hour!" She said, seemingly horrified by Roman's casual attire.

Esther King was, objectvely speaking, a very beautiful woman. She had dyed blonde hair that fell in ringlets past her shoulders, warm brown eyes, a round face, and a skinny phsyique. Shoeless she almost as tall as Roman, and she practically towered over him in the six inch heels she was currently wearing. Her dress, which was covered in glittery red sequins that reflected light at 100x magnification, was enough to make his head spin if he looked at it for too long.

Roman blinked and glanced at the clock on his phone. It was 7:30. Well, his mom had always been one to exagerate.

  
He smiled at her, turning up the charm.

"Sorry, just lost track of time."

His mom glanced at the phone in his hand and smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Texting your girlfriend?" She asked in a suggestive tone.  
Roman laughed nervously.

Esther King, as well as being beautiful, was also very extremely excited for her only (reputeable) son to be a corporate CEO with a six-figure salary, housewife, and (at minimum) two kids.

And she would absolutely not like it at all if she found out he was interested in men.

His mom smiled and, with another warning to hurry, walked out of his room. Roman sighed and flopped face-first onto the bed.  
Time to go impress some people, Roman thought, and dragged himself out of his bed.

* * *

When Roman didn't reply, Virgil immediately texted Patton.

_So you're just giving my phone number out to strangers now huh?? That's how it's gonna be?_

_Roman's not a stranger, you need more friends, and yes that's how it's gonna be_

_Oof. Never have I felt so betrayed_

_I presume he asked you about the panic attack?_

_Yep_

_And?_

_I told him what it was and said I didn't want to talk about it. And I don't_

_You know, Logan was really worried about you_

_Really? Logan?? Feeling an Emotion??_

_Shush, Virge, I'm being serious_

_So am I. Don't know why the two of them are taking a sudden interest in me. I suspect foul play_

_Or -here me out, I know it's crazy- they have ~genuinely good intentions~_

_Nah, sounds too far-fetched. They're definitely planning to murder me lol. Although, you'll be proud to know that Roman and I did form a truce of sorts_

_Truce? Explain_

_Basically we promised not to be an ass for a month_

_"We"_

_He wouldn't stop spamming me until I agreed, okay? Doesn't mean I'm an ass_

_Surrre it doesn't_

_I'm going to pretend I didn't see that. He invited you and me to hang out at the mall after school tommorow. U interested?_

_Shopping spree? I'm definitely interested._

_Cool. I'll tell him_

_Aww, look at you out there making friends!_

_Patton, do we need to have another talk?_

_No, sorry_

_I'm gonna go grab something to eat. TTYL?_

_Always_

_Not sure if that was a Fault in Our Stars reference or just you trying to be deep but either way gtfo_

_*GASP* LaNgAuAgE!_

_It was an acronym!_

_It still counts!_

Virgil smiled and went to microwave something for dinner.


	3. They go on a Date -I Mean, The Mall (+Moxiety)

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room and debated the pros and cons of getting up.

He was reasonably sure he'd eaten the last of the cereal yesterday for dinner, and he didn't exactly have the money to buy school breakfast. He barely had money for school _lunches_.

Unfortunately, logic won out (go to school --> get good grades --> get into good college --> have well-paying job) and he got out of bed.

Logan tried his hardest to keep everything in his life neat and organized. Homework was done the day it was given (if at all possible), his books were grouped by series and alphabetical order, even the papers in his binders were neatly divided. Every morning he made sure his room was in the same state it'd been in the previous morning.

Shower, get dressed, brush his teeth, do his hair. Make his bed and put away whatever he'd gotten out yesterday. Tidy up everything else.

Logan sighed and went outside when he heard Patton honking. He'd only recently started carpooling with him and Virgil to school. Virgil had his own car, but Logan doubted he'd ever passed up a chance to spend time with Patton in his entire life.

 _Speaking of Virgil_ , he thought as he opened the back door (Virgil had claimed the passenger seat as his and would outright _hiss_ at anyone who tried to take it from him -Logan knew this from personal experience. The man was part animal).

"I assume you're reasonably healthy, then?" Logan asked matter-of-factly as he slid into his seat.

Virgil scoffed. "If you're asking if I'm okay, then yes, I'm fine. Yesterday I had a panic attack and no, I don't want to talk about it. If you don't know what a panic attack is then that's your fault," he said firmly.

Logan, of course, knew what a panic attack was: A sudden episode of intense fear that triggered severe phsyical reactions such as shortness of breath, dizzines, narrowing or blurry vision, shaking, chest pains, and many others. While they're not actually life-threatening, they can be extremely frightening to the point that the fear of having another one can trigger them. They can be caused by many things, such as panic or anxiety disorders, stress, and P.T.S.D.

Logan frowned but decided not to inquire any further, instead pulling out the book Virgil had recommended and reading on the way to school. He sometimes got car sick, but it was easy enough to ignore for the ten minute ride.

When he overheard Virgil mention going out for coffee with Roman after school, Logan immediately knew he'd have to find a way to tag along. Patton was likely to let him if he asked -but not now. Virgil would most likely find it suspicious.

* * *

"I couldn't help but overhear you and Virgil discussing your plans for after school?" Logan said hurriedly -he only had a minute or two before the bell rang.

Patton jumped and pushed up his glasses, seeming startled. "Uh, yes?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could tag along, as I have no other plans?" Logan asked.

Patton blinked. "I don't see why not ..." He said uncertainly.

Logan smiled in relief. "Excellent. I assume you and Roman will be driving?"

"Probably, we didn't really talk about that."

Logan nodded. "See you then."

He turned and rushed to his next class, leaving behind a slightly bewildered looking Patton. Roman would not be winning this bet, not if Logan had anything to say about it.

* * *

"So, Logan offered to come with us after school. To the mall," Patton told Virgil in a conspiratorial tone as he sat next to him in homeroom.

"Why? Did you invite him?" Virgil asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"No. He just overheard us talking about it and wanted to tag along," Patton said.

"Hmm. He's never offered to hang out with you after school. Heck, he barely offers to hang out with you _during_ school," Virgil mused."Well, kiddo, I don't think it was _me_ he wanted to hang out with," Patton said with a bright smile.

Virgil simply stared at him, blank behind the eyes. Patton could actually _hear_ the gears grinding as he thought.

Finally, a flicker of understanding crossed his face, and he sputtered, "What -that's- _no_ , Patton, absolutely not- I mean, come on, _Logan_ , of all people? Pfft, I doubt it. Not- especially not with _me_." He laughed nervously and wrung his hands together, sinking down in his seat and folding his wings across his front.

Patton sighed. Virgil always reacted like this to the thought of someone liking him -either as a friend or something more. He'd had to watch firsthand what happened to the poor souls who attempted to ask him out: At best a stuttered rejection, at worst _total_ avoidance (Virgil had once bolted away from a girl during a school dance when she tried to kiss him, something he'd made Patton swear to never mention _ever_ again).

It made him immensely sad, that a life of isolation followed by whatever Dee had done to him was enough to scare Virgil away from any and all intimacy.

"Oh, come on, Virge, having friends isn't _that_ bad," Patton said lightly.

Virgil sighed heavily, shifting his wings behind him and sitting up. "Patton, when are you going to learn? People don't like me and I don't like people. It's a magnificent relationship; why are you trying to ruin that?"

"One day I'm gonna leave and you'll just die of loneliness, you know that?" Patton said, shaking his head sadly.

Virgil looked at him. "Yeah," he said in a completely serious tone, "I know."

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Virgil jumped, looking up at him with a bewildered expression. Even Patton blinked at him in surprise.

"About yesterday. If I did -if anything I said ...caused your panic attack," Logan clarified, pushing up his glasses. The realization had come to him suddenly that it was possible Logan said something to set off Virgil's panic attack, since (from what he knew) they could either be random or caused by triggers of some sort.

Virgil blinked rapidly. "Uh ...it's fine. Just don't call me ... _that_ again," he said, drumming his fingers across the table with one hand and avoiding eye contact.

It took a second of thought, but Logan eventually realized what word he meant. _Beautiful_. Of course.

"Oh. I didn't realize-"

Virgil held up a hand. "It's fine, dude. Just don't do it again."

Logan nodded. "Okay ...dude." He grimaced.

Virgil's lip twitched - _wait, was that a smile?!_ Logan was reasonably sure he'd never seen him so much as smirk in all the time they'd known each other.

"Never say that again," Virgil said firmly, wiping hair out of his face.

Logan nodded. "Agreed."

No mistaking it now -Virgil _definitely_ nearly smiled, seeming to catch himself at the last moment and force his expression into neutrality.

As Logan went and sat at his usual table, he couldn't for the life of him explain why that made him feel so _proud_.

* * *

Roman drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed along to the radio, trying his utmost best not run his fingers through his hair or check his reflection.

He failed.

Just as he was about to grab his phone and ask where the hell he was, Virgil opened the passenger side door and crawled in like he owned the place.

"Logan's coming with. He's riding with Patton," he said in a business-like tone, doing his seatbelt.

"Logan's coming?" Roman asked, almost choking on air.

"Yes. That won't be a problem, will it?" Virgil asked lightly, having the audacity to look amused at Roman's disgusted tone. He wiped the hair out of his face and quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly. The entire image was disconcerting enough to make him blink in surprise.

"No, it's fine," Roman lied, looking behind him to pull out of the parking lot. A blue car followed them, presumably Patton's. The mall was near the center of town, a good fifteen minute or so drive.

After a minute or two on the road in total silence, Virgil reached across and turned down the radio.

"Listen, Roman," he said.

Roman was immediately filled with a deep sense of dread.

"I'm not going to tell you to stay away from Patton because he's perfectly capable of making his own decisions, but I _am_ going to tell you that if you act like half the ass around him that you are around me, you should back off right the fuck now, because if you hurt him I will _personally_ rip your head off and toss it in a dumpster. And I don't appreciate you pretending to be my friend to get in his good graces."

He calmly turned the radio back up and leaned against his seat, gazing out the window.

For a good moment or two Roman was too shocked and terrified to speak. It took all his willpower just to prevent himself from swerving off the road. And when he finally _did_ speak, of course the first words out of his mouth were, "I'm not gay."

Technically, yes, that was true; Roman had spent enough frenzied nights on Google to know he was either bisexual or pansexual, but he wasn't naive enough to convince himself it wasn't a lie either. At best it was a half-truth. He swallowed and decided to push on. After that it couldn't really get any worse, could it?

Oh, it got worse. It got a _lot_ worse. "And I'm not pretending to be your friend," he choked out, then winced internally.

 _Oh, shit, I am_ , he thought. _I_ am _pretending to be his friend, and if he knew he'd probably flay me alive._

Roman took a breath and chanced a glance at Virgil. He was staring back at him, face so still and blank it could've been carved from stone.

"The statement still stands," he said simply, easily, then turned to look back out the window.

* * *

Virgil chewed on his hoodie strings nervously as he thought.

It just didn't make sense - _I'm not pretending to be your friend_. Then why -why all _this_ ? Why the texting and asking if he was okay and worrying about the state of his wings and the temporary truce and doyouwanttogotothemall and _actually going out of his way to talk to him?_

Roman -well, maybe _hated_ was a strong word, but he certainly had an _intense_ dislike for Virgil, and honestly? He felt the same. Roman King was a flamboyant, dramatic, overconfident, self-absorbed, snobby asshole, and Virgil was very, _very_ content to leave their relationship at that.

But.

 _This_.

Virgil had absolutely no idea what to make of it. He figured that maybe Roman was just trying to get close to him to impress Patton -nothing would impress him more than that, he supposed- but Roman, in his own words, _wasn't gay_.

Not that Virgil cared. He didn't give a flying fuck if Roman was gay, straight, bi, or sexually attracted to buildings and secretly in love with the White House. But Patton ...

Virgil took a deep breath when he realized that Patton would be _devastated_.

Now, he knew Patton wasn't as stupid as people assumed him to be -quite the opposite, in fact. He was, however, _ridiculously_ optimistic -to the point of viridity, honestly- and had most likely blocked out the fact that Roman (and Logan, for that matter) was probably not attracted to men.

Which, okay, _technically_ he didn't _explicitly_ say he wasn't, but in the eyes of most teenage boys any man attracted to men is Gay and No Other Sexualities exist. (Bisexuals? Non-existent. Pansexuals? Never heard of 'em. Polysexual, androsexual, minsexual -basically any sexuality other than gay and straight? Might as well be distant African countries for all they know or care. It's pretty sad.) And the chances of Roman either being closeted or in denial were slim to none.

But this still begged the question: _Why the fuck was Roman being nice (relatively speaking, of course) to him?_

His anxiety was really starting to eat him up about this. _No_ , he told it firmly. _Roman is_ not _planning to murder me. Chill the fuck out._

 _Have you even considered the fact that you are in a small enclosed space with a near-stranger? That you are in a_ car _that_ they _are driving and you don't even trust them?_ It said back.

Virgil immediately broke out into a cold sweat and had to check to see if Patton's car was still following and if they were, in fact, still en route to the mall and not driving down an abandoned dirt road. Even when he saw that they weren't, his wings still curled around his body protectively.

 _No, I did not. Thanks for that_ , he thought sarcastically.

 _Welcome,_ his anxiety said back.

* * *

Logan frowned as he opened the back door to Patton's car. "Where's Virgil?" He asked, since he wasn't in his usual spot.

"He's riding with Roman. You can sit in the front if you like," Patton said. 

Logan shut the door and moved to the front. He'd actually only sat up here once (Virgil was sick and had skipped school that day) so the experience was still surprisingly new.

Logan huffed and shoved his backpack onto the floorboard, unzipping it to pull out the book Virgil had recommended. He was almost finished -he only had about thirty pages left.

"Whatch' ya readin'?" Patton asked, jerking the car into motion. Patton's driving had always vaguely unsettled him, but he tried his best not to let it show.

"It's a psychology book Virgil recommended to me. It's quite good," Logan said, flipping it open.

Patton made a _"hmmm"_ sound that Logan instinctually disliked for reasons he couldn't quite put into words. "Something wrong?" He asked, blinking and pushing up his glasses.

"What? Oh, no, nothing's wrong," Patton said, smiling widely. "Nothing at all," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Okay ..." Logan said uncertainly, and attempted to return his focus to the book.

Patton didn't speak for the rest of the ride, which was so unusual for him that Logan couldn't help but spend the entire fifteen minutes in aprehension, unable to focus on the book to save his life.

"Oh, and Logan?" Patton said lightly -almost _too_ lightly, even for him- as he pulled into a parking space at the mall.

Logan jumped slightly, then paused, hand frozen on the car handle. "Yes ..?" He asked uneasily.

"I swear on everything you hold dear, lay a hand on Virgil without his permission and I'll kill you," Patton said in the same light, sweet tone.

Logan blinked, and by the time his eyes opened again Patton had already gotten out of the car and was walking toward Roman's car a few spaces away.

* * *

 _Oh, thank God_ , Virgil thought as he stumbled out of the car. The awkwardness had been thick enough to cut with a butter knife, and if there's one thing anxiety thrives on, it's awkwardness.

Patton had managed to find a parking space before them only a few spaces away, so he hurried toward there without a backwards glance at Roman. Patton ended up meeting him half-way, and they patiently waited for the other two to catch up.

"Did you bring any money?" Virgil asked, mostly for a conversation starter and partly because Patton probably didn't (either on purpose or accidentally).

"No, I absolutely did not," he said, patting his pockets and looking at him apologetically.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Don't worry about it. I'll pay for yours ...unless you buy something ridiculously expensive, then you're on your own." As previously mentioned, Virgil's father was pretty well-off, so he got a reasonable allowance: Twenty dollars a week plus whatever he got from his weekend job. He'd only brought thirty five dollars, however, because he knew if he brought more he'd most likely end up spending every cent.

Patton beamed at him. Just then Logan caught up with them, and the expression on his face was ...

 _Shock_ , Virgil thought. _That is the face of a man in shock._

He raised an eyebrow at Logan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

Which probably wasn't the best way to ask Logan Gray, of all people, if he was okay.

"How could you possibly know what I'd look like if I saw a ghost?" Logan asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Virgil sighed, and Patton explained under his breath, "No, buddy, it's just an expression -he's saying you look shocked or scared."

Logan blinked and pushed up his glasses. "Well, then why didn't you just say that?"

Virgil threw up his hands. "You know what? Just -forget it."

"Forget what?" Roman interrupted, and Virgil jumped so high his wings did an instinctual flap or two.

"Skittish much?" Roman asked, raising his eyebrows.

Virgil scowled at him. "Oh, fuck off," he snapped, forcing his wings to settle down.

"HEY, HEY, there is no reason to use that kind of language," Patton said angrily (or as angry as he could get), smacking Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. "Sorry," he said.

"Well, are we going to go inside or just stand out here all day?" Roman asked.

Virgil rolled his eyes and they walked toward the mall -Virgil was thankful to get into the air-conditioned space where he could wear his hoodie without dying of heatstroke.

"The mall" was a two story tall building filled with multiple stores and restaurants. After a short debate (that, considering the topic, got way too heated) they went to the pizzeria first, deciding to split two pizzas between the four of them, after which they'd browse the other stores.

Luckily, the pizzeria was having a sale (two pizzas with toppings of your choice for ten dollars), so they didn't have to spend as much money as they thought. Roman, of course, being the regular prince charming he was, paid for the whole thing. They sat in a booth -Virgil and Logan on one side, Roman and Patton on the other.

Virgil would maybe, possibly admit to Patton, if he insisted and put a ton of pressure on him, that overall, hanging out with the three of them wasn't absolutely horrible. He might even -under intense physical and psychological torture, of course- admit it was sort of ...fun.

Sure, Logan and Roman kept throwing each other random glares and getting into arguments over seemingly small topics (such as the inflation rate of pizza, which they had to use Google to resolve), and sure, Roman was just as much of a pompous idiot here as at school and Logan was just as much of an arrogant know-it-all ...but when they weren't doing that, they were actually kind of fun to hang out with.

Logan was basically a hotspring of useless but interesting knowledge, and Roman could even be amusing at times (Virgil found himself almost-smiling at several points). Logan had finished the book he'd recomended and kept talking to him about it. Virgil wasn't the best at emotions, but even he could see Patton falling farther into his Whatever with every minute that passed.

The differences were subtle since Patton acted overly friendly and affectionate toward _everyone_ , but he really ramped it up for Roman and Logan. And there were the moments where he just rested his chin on his fists and _stared_. In those moments the love laser-beaming from his eyes was so strong Virgil was outright astonished they couldn't feel it. With Logan it was understandable (the man wouldn't know what love looked like if it smacked him in the face) but _Roman_? Come on. The man was a hopeless romantic -half the school was head over heels for him, and he'd had what, three girlfriends by now?- he should be able to sense when the person sitting less than a foot away is hopelessly in Whatever with him.

Virgil just sighed and rolled his eyes at the obliviousness of straight men.

Just as they were about to leave, Roman sprung up from his seat with a huge smile on his face. "Remy!" He shouted, moving toward the entrance (did the man have no shame?).

Virgil frowned and turned around to see Roman doing the bro-shake (that wierd handshake-thing guys do when they see each other) with a guy Virgil assumed was Remy.

Remy seemed to be somewhere between nineteen and twenty one, with brown hair that looked like it'd been hurriedly swept back and eyes hidden by sunglasses. He was wearing a black leather jacket and had the coolest wings Virgil had ever seen in his entire existence.

Every feather started out black and faded into light gray. There were indigo undertones that shimmered in the light -like Logan's, he supposed- and snow white feathers were sprinkled throughout like stars in the night sky. In fact, the entire effect reminded Virgil of the night sky.

Beside Remy were three other people: A man wearing an orange beanie and gray jacket, his wings light gray with every feather tipped in gold; a woman with shoulder length bright orange hair and wings in every shade of blue with purple undertones like fire; and a man with messy brown hair and wings that looked like a paint splatter -his feathers were every color of the rainbow and then some.

The group made their way toward Virgil's booth. "Guys, this is Remy!" Roman introduced, throwing his arm around Remy's shoulder.

Virgil blinked when Remy smiled in his direction. _Ah, shit_ , he thought. _Here we go again._

As previously mentioned, Virgil wasn't the best at emotions, but after all these years he knew what a crush felt like. And this was a crush -albeit a very shallow one.

"This is Thomas, Joan, and Talyn," Remy said, gesturing to splatter-wing, orange-beanie, and orange-hair respectively.

"They/them pronouns," Joan and Talyn said in nearly uncanny unison, sliding into the booth. They each waved awkwardly. Virgil waved back just as awkwardly.

"What've you been up to since I went to college?" Remy asked, sitting down in the booth across from his friends.

This got Roman and Remy into a long conversation which everyone else was very firmly excluded from. Thomas didn't seem to mind, just ordered them two pizzas and drinks.

Virgil turned and gave Patton a "wtf?" look. Patton returned it with a "really?" look. Virgil frowned and racked his brain for something he'd forgotten. He came up empty and shrugged.

Patton sighed. "Roman and Remy were best friends last year. Thomas and the others may not have been around as much, but you should at least remember that."

A memory clicked into place, and Virgil snapped his fingers. "Oooh, yeah, I think I remember him. At least, I remember a senior who always wore sunglasses because light really hurt his eyes or something."

"Remy has photophobia. It makes his eyes really sensitive to light," Patton said.

"Oh," Virgil said. "That must suck."

"Like you wouldn't believe," Remy said, sighing dramatically and putting his arm across the back of the booth. His hand brushed Virgil's wingtip, but he didn't seem to notice so he just flicked it out of the way. "My sunglasses get knocked off? Hell on Earth, let me tell you. And it's even worse when people try to force me to take them off." He shook his head and took a sip of his soda, looking like the physical embodiment of sass itself.

He turned to Roman. "Now, on to a more important topic: You got a girlfriend yet?"

Roman laughed. Virgil narrowed his eyes. He knew nervous laughter when he heard it. _Interesting_ , he thought, taking a sip of his own soda.

"Nope, no girlfriend at the moment. How 'bout you? Got a boyfriend yet?" Roman asked, carding his fingers through his hair. Virgil had noticed he only did this when he was nervous. _Very_ interesting.

The question started Remy on a rant about all the hot guys at college, only pausing occasionally to take a bite of his pizza. At some point Virgil's mind drifted away from the conversation, so he didn't hear most of it.

Eventually, though, Remy was dragged away by his friends with a promise to text Roman at least once a day. Virgil's heartbeat finally returned to normal.

"Remy was nice," Virgil said when they'd paid and were walking outside of the pizzeria. Then he internally face palmed. _Conspicuous much?_ He thought at himself.

"I liked him," Patton said cheerfully.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You like everyone, Patton," he said.

"Everyone who's worth liking," Patton corrected.

Virgil shrugged. "Fair enough."

"So, what now?" Roman asked, tossing his empty cup into the trash.

Virgil shrugged again. "Bookstore?" He suggested, already knowing Roman would dismiss the idea.

He did. "No," he said, looking around. "Pet store?"

Patton squealed. "Yes! They have the _cutest_ kittens-"

"Absolutely not," Virgil said in his flattest possible voice.

"Why not? Are you allergic to cuteness?" Roman asked, looking at him: It wasn't quite a glare, but it certainly wasn't a friendly look either.

"No, but Patton's allergic to cats," Virgil said, giving Patton a pointed look.

Patton huffed and pouted. "I'll be fine for a few minutes," he insisted.

"That's what you said last time and you almost died."

"I did _not_ almost die, you're exaggerating-!"

"We're not going to the pet store, and that's final," Virgil cut him off.

"I agree with Virgil. It would be foolish to risk your health for the sake of observing an animal," Logan said, pushing up his glasses.

Patton, being the mature man he was, blew rasberries at him.

"We could go bowling," Roman suggested.

"I don't like bowling," Virgil said.

"You don't like anything," Roman shot back.

"True," he admitted, pulling out his phone to check the time. Five o'clock. They'd been in the pizzeria for over an hour. "Actually, I should be heading home. My dad's off work today, so ..." He let his sentence trail off. His dad got home around six, which meant he'd expect Virgil to be home by then as well.

Roman sighed. "I should be, too."

Virgil turned to Patton. "Can you drive me home?" He asked.

"Yeah, of course. Logan, you need a ride?" Patton asked.

"Yes," Logan said.

And, well, what else is there to say? They left the mall and drove to their respective houses.

* * *

Patton ended up staying the night at Virgil's house. This was such a common occurrence by now that Virgil didn't even have to ask his dad -in fact, most of the time he just assumed Patton would be staying over and would question it when he _didn't_.

Besides, his dad was already asleep by the time Virgil got home (around five forty), and he didn't dare wake him up to ask if it was okay.

He and Patton retreated to his room and flopped onto the bed. Patton stretched his wings as far as he could -which, considering the size of Virgil's room and Patton's fifteen foot wingspan, was about three fourths of the way. Patton sighed and folded his wings in a bit before letting gravity do its thing, very firmly pinning Virgil under his left wing in the process. Wings were built to be light but strong, and he could sense that strength every time Patton's wing muscles shifted.

Virgil almost protested, but remembered something Rose -his therapist for the last two and a half years- had said about trust and physical contact and decided to let it slide. It wasn't so bad, really -it felt like a big weighted blanket spread across his back. If he tried hard enough he could almost forget it was attached to a person.

"Want to watch the next episode of Merlin?" Virgil asked, already reaching for his laptop (yes, his laptop was beside his bed; yes, it usually kept him up past midnight). He knew the answer even before Patton nodded enthusiastically. They'd been bingewatching the series together and were currently nearing the end of season two; Patton was downright in love with it.

"Hold on," Virgil said. "I'll make us some popcorn." He attempted to wiggle out from underneath Patton's wing. Key word: _Attempted_.

"Kettle?" Patton asked, taking pity on him and rolling over.

Virgil's momentum carried him off the bed with a muffled _oof_. Patton laughed at his expense.

Virgil sprang to his feet. "Of course it's kettle," he said, refusing to acknowledge his embarrasment. "What do you take me for, an animal?"

Patton's laughter followed him to the kitchen. As Virgil put the first bag of popcorn into the microwave, he heard his dad's bedroom door open and turned to see him shuffle his way into the kitchen, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed -which he had.

Virgil had been told many, many times that he looked exactly like his father -same hair, same eyes, same wings (although his dad's were a significantly darker shade of gray), they even had the same mannerisms.

Virgil could see it, to a certain point. He was certainly nothing like his mother, judging from what little he remembered of her. She'd always been the livelier of the three, from personality to actions to appearance -she was where Virgil had inherited the purple edging his wings, as well as the lighter shade of gray (his mother had had dove white wings with light purple tips, like an edgy angel).

"Hi," Virgil said awkwardly. _It's weird that I feel awkward around my own dad, isn't it? Oh boy, Rose is probably going to bring that up soon_ , he thought, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

"Hi," his dad said back, shuffling over to the coffee machine.

"Uh," Virgil said, "Patton's staying over. Is that okay?"

His dad barked a short laugh. "Of course. Tell you the truth, I'd be more worried if he wasn't staying over. Kid practically lives here."

Virgil laughed, pulling his hoodie sleeves down to his palms. A nervous gesture of sorts; he'd always felt more secure when he was wearing his hoodie than when he wasn't. Well, not _always_ -the habit popped up sometime during sixth or seventh grade, but ...

Well. You get the point.

The microwave went off, and Virgil jumped, realizing he'd been caught up in his thoughts. He pulled out the bag and put the next one in.

"How was school?" His dad asked casually.

"Um, fine. I went to the mall with some friends afterward," Virgil said, silently hoping for his popcorn to hurry the fuck up so he could leave.

"Have a good time?' His dad asked.

"Yeah," Virgil said.

_Two minutes and thirty seconds left. Two minutes and twenty seconds left. Two minutes and-_

"How are your grades? I haven't gotten a progress report in a while," his dad said, breaking Virgil's chant.

"They're fine," Virgil lied. The truth was, judging by his papers, his grades were probably between the sixty to seventy range in most of his classes. He hadn't checked in weeks out of an irrational fear that looking at them would solidify the reality that he was failing eleventh grade. It was Shrodinger's Grades -until he looked at them, he was theoretically both passing and failing.

"Are you sure? You sound a little uncertain," his dad said. Virgil heard coffee start to pour into his cup.

"I'm certain."

_Forty seconds. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten seconds. Five ... four ... three ... two ... one-_

Virgil grabbed the bags of popcorn as fast as he could without seeming like he was rushing (which he totally was, but his dad didn't need to know that) and started power walking to his room.

"Don't stay up all night!" His dad yelled after him.

"We won't!" Virgil yelled back.

Patton smiled at him as soon as he entered the room. "You're going to stay up all night, aren't you?"

Virgil tossed him the bag of popcorn. "Definitely," he said, flopping onto the bed with an _oof_.

Patton sighed. "Since I know I can't stop you, I guess the best I can do is force you to go wash off your eyeshadow before you forget and fall asleep with it on like you do _every night_ I'm not here."

Virgil sighed and rolled off the bed. "Fine, _dad_ ," he groaned melodramatically.

"And don't forget to take your medication!" Patton called after him. Virgil snorted and smiled to himself because dammit, it should _really_ be illegal for someone to be as caring as Patton Charleton was.

He did as he was told, using his make-up wipes (yes, make-up wipes -do you know how hard it is to wash off eyeshadow with just water?) to wipe away the eyeshadow. Then he downed his daily pill and prayed that an entire bag of popcorn would suffice as a meal (Was this potentially dangerous? Yes. Did that stop him? No.).

He walked out of the bathroom and flung his arms wide. "Happy?" He asked, spreading his wings a little and spinning around just to be dramatic.

"You know, you really _do_ look different without all that stuff on your face," Patton said, sounding thoughtful.

Virgil frowned, wiping his hair out of his eyes. "Do I?" He asked. He thought he looked the same, but he supposed he could be biased.

"Yeah. Less dark, more ..." Patton gestured vaguely toward his face. "Open? I'm not sure if that makes sense."

Virgil shrugged. "I guess. Now scoot over and let's get this marathon started."

Patton did as he was told. Long story short, by the end of the first episode they were in a tangled heap with popcorn sprinkled around like confetti.

"Move -your _wing_ -" Virgil hissed, attempting to both eat the popcorn he'd dropped and untangle himself from the blankets at the same time.

"Sorry," Patton said, folding his wings close to him. When everything was more or less settled, Virgil pressed start on the second episode.

About ten minutes in, however, he noticed that Patton was staring at him. Well, not at _him_ specifically -at his wings.

Virgil paused the show. "Something wrong?" He asked, folding his wings in a little closer.

"No -well, yes. It's just, your wings ...kiddo, when's the last time you groomed them?" Patton asked, grimacing.

Virgil snorted. "What?" He asked, looking back at his wings. They didn't look that bad, in his opinion; obviously they weren't as big or strong or beautiful as many others he'd seen, but they weren't in as a downright _awful_ state as Patton's tone suggested.

Although, he hadn't groomed them in a while ...

"I mean, just look at them! They're rumpled and rubbed the wrong way and I think a few are _molting_ ..."

Patton raised a hand as if to touch his wings and Virgil couln't help it -he flinched away. Patton immediately put his hand back by his side.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-" He started.

Virgil shook his head vehemently. "No, it's fine, really. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. Look, you can touch them," he said, spreading out the wing closest to Patton.

Patton looked at him. "Are you sure or are you doing that thing where you pretend you're fine with something when really you're not?"

"I'm sure."

"Really? Because I've noticed you do that a lot-"

"Patton, just _touch_ my wings. Jeez."

That was all the incentive he needed. Even Patton, his closest friend, had only touched Virgil's wings a few times. It was something that was only supposed to be done between trusted friends, and Patton knew he had problems with physical contact, especially when it came to his wings -and he respected that.

Patton was gentle, of course, as was his nature. At first, it was weird and extremely uncomfortable, but after a little it became soothing. Virgil let himself relax and spread his wing out a little more to allow Patton access to all the folds.

Patton straightened and smoothed out several of Virgil's feathers, pulling out a random twig that had somehow gotten stuck in one of them, also pulling out one or two feathers that were in the process of molting.

Virgil had never been groomed by another person before (except, perhaps, by his parents when he was very young), and he had to say, it was a pleasant experience. Relaxing, like getting a massage or letting someone else run their fingers through your hair. Occasionally painful when Patton was forced to pluck a particularly stubborn molting feather.

Virgil laid his head on the mattress and lifted his wing so Patton could get to the underside. He was on the verge of falling asleep when Patton tapped him on the shoulder. "Move so I can get to your other wing," he said, tone as close to business-like as he could get.

Virgil obliged, and they ended up shifting awkwardly until they were on opposite sides of the bed. He snuck a glance or two at his wing as he did and had to admit: It did look better.

As Patton groomed his left wing, Virgil _did_ fall into a state of semi-consciousness for a short while. He couldn't help it -here, on his bed, with Patton, he felt safer and more comfortable than he had in a while.

 _This must be what heaven is like_ , he thought as Patton ran his fingertips over Virgil's feathery down, sending goosebumps racing over his skin.

And, of course, his mind had to ruin it with the sudden and intense realization that _this was romantic as fuck_ . Wing grooming could be done between close friends, sure, but it was most commonly done between romantic partners, and that made this have _undeniably_ romantic subtext.

 _What do you expect me to do with this information?_ Virgil asked his mind.

 _Suffer, bitch,_ it said back.

A bitch he was, and suffer he did.

For the rest of the wing grooming session his face was basically on fire, he was tense as fuck, and his heart was beating unnaturally fast (he didn't think that was healthy -no, that _definitely_ wasn't healthy). Yeah, he wasn't falling into that safe and comfortable state anytime soon.

Patton sighed and sat back. "I think I'm done." He picked up the four or five feathers he'd pulled out and swept them into the trash can beside the bed.

Virgil sat up and looked back at his wings. They did look better. Sleeker. Shinier. Healthier, almost. He shook his wings out and folded them against his back.

"Thanks, Patton," he said, and he meant it.

"No problem, kiddo. Just don't let them get into that state again," Patton said, laying back down on the bed.

They managed to get through five more episodes of Merlin before Patton fell asleep around nine. Virgil smirked and gently took off his glasses since he'd forgotten, before powering off the laptop (what kind of monster would watch a show without their friend?). 

He got out his phone, preparing to open Tumblr and scroll through it for another thirty minutes or so, but paused when he saw a text from Roman.

_Hi_

Short, sweet, simple. Virgil texted back:

_U still here?_

_Yeah. Have a good time at the mall today?_

_Yeah. It was nice._

_Especially since you didn't have to pay for anything_

_Excuse me, YOU'RE the one who iNsIsTeD he pay for everything_

_I think that's the most emotion I've ever seen you express and it was through a text_

_oh fuck off_

_Agressive much?_

_Yes. Next question?_

_How about this one: Are you going to the flight game tommorow night?_

_No. Why?_

_Well, I was *going* to invite you, but if you're not interested ..._

_I've noticed a recurring theme of you asking if I'm going to an event (that you are starring in), then when I say no you try to talk me into going_

_Suspicious much?_

_*I've* noticed a recurring theme of you avoiding questions and acting like I'm going to murder you in your sleep if you let your guard down for 2.5 seconds_

_Are you?_

_See! You just did it!_

_Fine. If I told you I'd consider going to the stupid flight game with you would you tell me why you oh-so-desperately want me to go?_

_And u can't give me some bullshit answer like "oh I want you to see me in all my glory ahaha I'm so perfect"_

_In addition to the obvious "bullshit answer", there's also the fact that ...idk, friends invite other friends to social events?? Like, that's a Thing That People Do??? I know your social skills aren't the best, but really, Virgil, come on_

_Since when are we friends?_

_Just this monday you called me a "creepy emo edgelord who probably does satanic rituals in his basement"_

_And yes don't think I didn't hear that whole conversation_

_Never forgive, never forget_

_Hey, you gave me a month to redeem myself and it's only been a day. I'm trying, man_

_Hmm, I'll go to the flight game, but in the future you'll have to try harder than this. It's going to take a lot to make up for years worth of assholery_

_I take *personal* offense to that. And how about we go out for food after?_

_Sounds fine_

"Who ya texting?" Patton mumbled sleepily.

An immediate and irrational bolt of panic went through Virgil, and he closed the tab. "Sorry, did the brightness wake you up?" He asked, already turning it down. He always forgot; Patton said he was going to end up needing glasses too someday.

"No, and don't avoid the question," Patton said, sitting up on his elbows and looking at Virgil's screen. "Who ya texting?"

"What makes you think I'm texting somebody?" Virgil asked in mock offense.

His phone vibrated and a notification appeared, alerting him of a text from Roman (who he had saved as Princey in his contacts).

"Princey?" Patton said in confusion, then gasped. "You're texting Roman?"

"Well, you gave the guy my phone number, and he is really persistent," Virgil said in defense, then wondered why he was being defensive. He had no reason to be ashamed for texting Roman, right? Right?

"Tell him I said hi!" Patton said cheerfully, then promptly rolled over, managing to take half the blanket with him in the process.

Virgil smiled and rolled his eyes before he looked at the text Roman had sent.

_See you tomorrow. Goodnight, Charlie Frown_

And for some goddamn reason, that made him smile like an idiot.

_Goodnight. Patton says hi_

He looked over at Patton before powering down his phone and going to sleep.


	4. Patton Has a Sudden Realization (+Analogical)

When Patton woke up, it was to a  _ jarringly _ loud,  _ extremely _ annoying ringing sound.

He reluctantly pryed his eyes open. Virgil was laying next to him, still sound asleep. He'd always been a heavy sleeper.

Patton grabbed the phone from beside Virgil (as always, he'd fallen asleep with it next to him instead of reaching the extra two feet to put it on the nightstand) and turned off the alarm, as well as the six alarms after it.

Patton checked the time. Only six am. They could spare a few more minutes. He set the phone down and settled back into the softness of being sandwiched between a matress and thick comforter.

He stretched and his hand ended up brushing Virgil's soft hoodie sleeve. Patton sighed and forced himself to sit up.

He lightly shook Virgil's shoulders. "Hey, time to wake up, kiddo."

Virgil didn't so much as twitch. Patton shook him more forcefully. "Viiirgil!"

Virgil groaned and opened his eyes, turning his head to glare at him. Patton smiled. "Time to wake up, sleepy head!" He said, ruffling his hair for added effect.

Virgil pouted and sat up, smoothing his hair back down. "Don't ruffle my hair," he muttered darkly.

Patton's heart stuttered, then picked up speed. Was there anything Virgil could do that wasn't the most adorable thing ever?

Like, seriously, it was unfair for someone to look  _ that _ adorable and be that kindhearted and talented and-

Oh.

_ Oh. _

So.

He had a crush(?) on Virgil.

There were times he really hated his life.

Virgil blinked owlishly and sat up. "It's Friday, right?" He asked.

Patton nodded. "As far as I know."

Virgil flopped back down to the bed. "Thank God," he said. "I can stay up late and sleep in."

"Don't you have a job?"

Virgil snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Right. Forgot. But I can sleep in later than usual."

"True. Now get up."

Virgil sighed and rolled out of bed, falling to the ground with a thump. Patton realized something. "I forgot to bring a change of clothes," he said, face palming himself.

"Don't worry about it." Virgil's head appeared over the top of the matress. "You can wear some of my mine. You've done it before. Speaking of which, I never did get that shirt back."

Patton felt his cheeks heat up. "I forgot," he muttered. The truth was he hoarded everything Virgil had ever given him and wouldn't give it back unless he asked for it specifically.

Virgil huffed and got to his feet. "You should keep a stash of clothes here for these types of situations."

"Maybe I will," Patton said, seriously considering it. He stayed over here more often than at his own house, so it would make more sense.

Virgil rolled his eyes and gestured to the bathroom (Virgil had a bathroom connected to his room, which was an entirely different kind of privelage). "You go ahead and shower. I'll make us breakfast."

"Pancakes?" Patton asked hopefully. He'd been shocked when he discovered that Virgil was actually quite good at cooking, and a little sad when the other boy casually admitted that his mom used to love it as well.

Virgil shrugged. "If we have enough. If not I can make you some french toast and scrambled eggs."

"You don't like either of those things," Patton pointed out. Sweet things -like syrup- made Virgil feel queasy after just a bite or two, and he'd never liked scrambled eggs. Said they tasted like salt sprinkled on whipped air. He liked pancakes as long as they didn't have syrup.

"That's why I said 'you'," Virgil responded, swiping his hair away from his eyes. "I'll just get some cereal. Now hurry up and get in the shower."

He would've protested and insist Virgil cook something for himself and not just Patton, but he was already gone. He sighed and dragged himself into the shower.

* * *

"You know, you should really invest in some lighter clothes," Patton said at lunch, frowning down at the clothes he'd borrowed -well, let's be honest, taken- from Virgil. The lightest t-shirt he'd been able to find had been a dark gray that matched the cardigan tied loosely around his neck, and Virgil seemed to own nothing other than black jeans and sweatpants, so he'd been forced to wear those.

"Why would I buy clothes I'd never wear?" Virgil asked, sarcastic as always.

"I'm serious. We could make it a Thing. Complete style change."

"What, you mean you'd buy darker clothes?" Virgil asked, finally sounding interested.

Patton considered. He preferred bright blue and white, but if it would get Virgil to agree to this ... "Maybe, but only if you buy some lighter ones."

Virgil seemed to consider for a moment. "Okay, fine, but only because I've never seen you in a color darker than ocean blue."

Patton barely repressed his squeal. "Ooh, we could go after school and maybe even dye our hair-!"

Virgil suddenly got a shuttered, emotionless expression where before there had been a faint hint at a smile. He looked down at his tray, fiddling with his fork. "Can't. Not today, at least," he said flatly.

Patton's interest was immediately piqued. Virgil never got like this unless he was hiding something. "Why not?" He asked.

"Things to do," Virgil mumbled.

"Like ..?" He pushed.

Virgil shrugged, a smirk starting to appear on his face.

"If you're not going to answer I'll just guess until I get an answer," Patton warned.

Virgil didn't respond, just looked at him, still smirking. Patton considered for a moment. "It's not therapy or a doctor appointment, is it? I mean, you hid that type of stuff a lot before but we're past that, right?"

The other boy looked genuinely offended, the smirk instantly disapearing from his face. "You know I'd tell you if it was that, Patton," he said seriously.

Patton nodded. "Okay, so what else would you want to hide from me ..?" He gasped, clapping his hands and spreading his wings. "Is it a date?"

If it was a date, Patton would be crushed, sure, but he would also be very extremely excited to meet the lucky man Virgil had finally deemed worthy of his love (and to give him the "shovel talk", but that was another topic entirely).

Virgil paled even more beneath his white concealer, looking apalled. "What -no, I don't have a date." He scoffed and rolled his eyes as if the very idea were ridiculous.

"Hmm. Then what is it?" Patton asked.

"I'm going to the flight game," he said lightly, shrugging and taking a bite of his food like this wasn't important.

Patton blinked in confusion. Out of all the things Virgil could've said, this was the most baffling. "But ...you hate sports, especially flight. And you've never gone to a game before," Patton said.

Virgil smirked and mumbled, "Yeah-but-Roman-invited-me."

Patton cupped a hand around his ear. "Come again?" He asked, not sure if he heard right.

"Roman invited me. And we're going for food after," Virgil said louder. He held up a hand as Patton inhaled, preparing to squeal. "And don't freak out about it. I don't like it when you fanboy over these things. He is straight, it is not a date, we are barely even friends, and it is just a game and some food."

"I know, but still. I'm glad to see you out there making friends, kiddo," Patton said fondly, smiling and curling his fist beneath his chin.

Virgil glared at him. "You have that ridiculously fond look on your face and I'm not sure I like it."

Patton just sighed.

* * *

"So, I was thinking-"

"No."

Patton pouted at him. Virgil rolled his eyes and pulled out his earbuds. "What?" He asked.

"I was thinking that you and Logan should exchange phone numbers!" Patton said excitedly.

Virgil's wings fluttered and he almost fell off of his seat. "Um, why would we do that?" He asked, wiping hair away from his eyes as he looked up at Patton and folded back his wings.

"Because you're friends, and that's what friends do," he explained slowly.

"I'm pretty sure we're not-"

"Too late! He already has it. Now, do you want me to give you his number so you don't freak out when he texts you?"

"If you give me his number I could just block him," Virgil pointed out.

"Is that a no?" Patton asked, unperturbed.

Virgil sighed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because if I don't you'll just push them away until you either die of loneliness or go insane," Patton responded simply.

"Fine," Virgil grumbled, pulling out his phone. "What's his number?"

Patton beamed and gave it to him (he had it memorized). Virgil glared at him as he put his earbuds back in. "Sometimes I really hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," Virgil admitted reluctantly.

* * *

When he dropped Virgil off at home, he looked back at him with a frown, "Are you coming in?"

Patton shook his head. "Nah, kiddo, I'm staying home tonight."

Virgil's expression did that Thing it sometimes did -like he was experiencing an emotion and trying his best to hide it, which resulted in a slight grimace. "Well, you know you can stop by anytime, right? My dad won't be home until midnight, and you know where the spare key is. And you can always text me." The concern in his voice was blatantly obvious.

Patton smiled. "I'll be fine, Virge. You have fun, now!" He said suggestively, and winked.

It had the wanted effect. Virgil snorted and rolled his eyes. "Never do that again," he said firmly, and slammed the door closed.

Patton sighed and drove home, trying his hardest to shove down his feelings of dread. Maybe today would be a good day. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad ...

He knew that wasn't true the moment he walked through the door. It was quiet, for one thing. Too quiet. And it looked like there'd been a fight. Things were knocked over; beer bottles were sitting on the coffee table, and what was once a plate was scattered across the kitchen floor in tiny pieces. Both of his parents were gone, maybe at work, maybe somewhere else.

Patton knew this fight had been bad. His parents fought and screamed a lot, but things very rarely ever got physical.

He sighed and got to work cleaning it up.

* * *

Virgil looked through his clothes nervously. Everything he owned was either black or gray, meant to help him fade into the background and make eyes sweep past him instead of stopping to linger. It was one of the better parts about looking like the physical embodiment of the emo stereotype: One look and people thought they knew you, so they never bothered actually trying to get to know you.

But he was getting off track. Now was not the time to get philosophical, not when he was desperately trying to find something to wear to the flight game tonight.

He supposed he could wear the same thing he'd worn to school, but he wasn't sure. Was there some type of dress code he didn't know about?

"This," he said, sighing and leaning his hands against his dresser. "Is exactly why I avoid social situations."

After a bit more debate, he decided to just go with what he was wearing: Black jeans, black shirt, black shoes, black-and-dark-gray plaid hoodie. Not the most creative outfit, but then again, Virgil wasn't exactly known for his creativity.

The flight game didn't even start until five o'clock. He was overthinking. As a matter of fact, he probably shouldn't have agreed to this. He should've gotten Patton to go with him, to help him deal with the crowd. Maybe he shouldn't go at all-

Just then there was a ding, and he blinked, shaking himself out of his spiraling thoughts. He took a breath and reached into the pouch of his hoodie to grab his phone.  _ Probably a text from Patton _ , he thought.  _ Or Roman _ .

Actually, it was a text from Logan.

_ Salutations _

_ Well hello to you too. I assume Patton gave you my number? _

_ Yes, he did. He said he'd give you mine? _

_ Yes, he did. _

_ If I may ask, what are you doing? _

_ Nothing atm but I'm going to the flight game tonight _

_ I was under the impression that you hated sports? _

_ I do, but Roman invited me _

_ And he's REALLY persistent _

_ That he is. I was wondering if you can recomend any other books to me on the topic of psychology? _

_ The Art of Profiling by Dan Korem is a good book. Tbh I only read the first few chapters of it before putting it back _

_ If it's a good book why did you only read the first few chapters? _

_ Long story. I always meant to pick it back up _

_ Maybe you should do that. _

_ Or you can just read it and summarize it to me? _

_ I suppose I can do that. _

_ Nice. If I may ask, what are you doing? _

_ Right now I'm texting you. I'm about to do my homework, then maybe I'll read a book. _

_ How exciting. _

_ I've been told that the Pit And The Pendulum is a very interesting short story. _

_ You're reading the Pit And The Pendulum for fun? _

_ Yes. _

_ Of course you are.  _

_ That's what I just said. _

_ You're very literal _

_ So I've been told. _

_ Is that all you read in your spare time? Math text books and classic literature? _

_ It's not /all/ I read. I enjoy a compelling mystery from time to time. Anything that views events from a more analytical point of view (surprisingly, I found World War Z by Max Brooks to be enjoyable despite the obvious impossibility of a zombie apocalypse). What genres do you prefer? _

_ Horror, fantasies, thrillers. Novels with darker undertones. Murder mysteries are okay, but I prefer a faster pace. Psychology books, obviously. Stephen King may be my favorite author. You? _

_ Agatha Christie is probably my favorite author. _

_ Maybe I'll check out a few of her books. Any you would recomend? _

_ And Then There Were None. Either that or Murder on The Orient Express. Would you recomend a book to me? _

_ Dark Talents by Max Turner. It's the first two books of a trilogy. I ordered the third one but it hasn't arrived yet. I'll let you borrow it. _

_ That sounds fine. Can you bring it to school on Monday? _

_ Sure. _

_ I'm starting to think our entire relationship is based on book recomendations. _

_ I would hope not. _

_ Me too. _

_ Maybe on Saturday we could go out for coffee around two? _

_ I would love to. _

_ I'm gonna go get something to eat. Text you later. _

Virgil realized he was smiling down at his phone. The brief conversation with Logan had calmed him somewhat.

_ Maybe people are nicer in text _ , he thought, sliding his phone into his hoodie pouch.  _ After all, it's hard to fit an arrogant tone into a few letters. Even for Logan. _

He snorted as he looked at himself in the mirror, then winced. He would need to reapply his eyeshadow, since it had smudged throughout the day, and the same went for his concealer.

But he could do that later. Right now, food and medication. Then check on Patton, since the boy had an irritating habit of promising to text Virgil if something went wrong (read: if his parents were fighting) and then  _ not doing it _ .

He took a pill while his cup of macaroni was being cooked in the microwave, then pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Patton.

_ You okay? _

He sighed when there was no immediate response, but resolved to not freak out unless Patton didn't answer for another few hours.  _ Then _ he'd drive over in a worried frenzy.

Virgil pulled out his phone and (predictably) ended up watching YouTube. Patton sent him a text saying he was fine and would be spending the night at his own house. Virgil responded okay and continued watching videos.

An hours passes  _ disturbingly _ fast when you're on YouTube. Before he could so much as blink, Roman was texting him asking for his address so he could pick him up. Of course, a small part of Virgil spoke against giving someone he barely knew and didn't particularly like (especially someone like Roman, who would probably show up whenever he pleased like he owned the place) directions to his  _ house _ , but he very firmly told that part of him to  _ shut up _ , Roman was  _ not going to murder him _ .

He texted it back and quickly reapplied his make-up while he waited for the sound of Roman honking. He had lots of practice after waking up late for school many times, so it looked fine.

Five minutes after he finished, the sound of one long  _ hoooooonk _ came from outside. Roman didn't let up on the horn until he stepped outside.

Roman stuck his hand out his window and wiggled his fingers in an imitation of a wave. Virgil flipped him off; he's pretty sure Roman laughed at him.

The car was moving before Virgil even closed the door behind him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He snapped, settling into the seat and putting on his seatbelt.

"Did you reapply your eyeshadow, Stormcloud?" Roman guffawed, turning to look at him.

Virgil scowled. "What's it matter?" He snapped.

"You did," Roman said, sounding way too self-satisfied and amused for his own good.

"So? You think this stays on all day by itself?" Virgil said, rolling his eyes. He tugged his hood forward a little.

"I just assumed you didn't actually wear it outside of school," Roman said, still sounding amused.

"If I didn't wear it in public, what would be the point?"

"Fair enough."

Virgil looked out the window to hide his smile. When they got to the field, Roman had to go to the locker room with the rest of his team. Virgil sat in the third row of the bleachers, near the edge, and tried to avoid talking to anyone else.

To be quite honest, for the entirety of the game he mostly daydreamed, occasionally snapping back into focus to watch the players fly. It was fascinating, like watching a predator stalk its prey, muscles shifting beneath skin and moving so quickly they were nothing but a blur. Roman in particular was interesting to watch; his bright red wings made him easy to spot and keep track of, not that Virgil would ever admit this to him.

Personally, Virgil had never cared about flight racing -why bother learning the rules to a game he was physically incapable of playing? During the flight P.E unit he'd been allowed to sit in the bleachers and read, so he did. Most of that month was a blur.

It was very loud. People kept cheering or booing, and Virgil had no idea why so he just weakly followed along and assumed they were right. The guy sitting next to him seemed to have no concept of personal space, allowing his obnoxiously huge wings to smack Virgil every time he kept to his feet and shouted.

All in all, it wasn't so bad, he supposed. The cold gave him a reason to retreat into his hoodie, and it was easy enough to let the noise fade into the background. His anxiety only bothered him when someone attempted to talk to him (which happened twice).

About ten minutes before the end of the game, Logan sent him a text.

_ I was thinking we could go to Starbucks? _

_ I know somewhere better _

_ That seemed vaguely ominous. Should I be worried? _

_ Maybe. Want me to pick you up? _

_ That would be best. Do you remember where I live? _

_ Yeah. Text you when I get there _

_ Affirmative. _

Virgil snorted at the formality before sliding his phone back into his hoodie pouch.

After the game he waited by Roman's car, checking his phone as he did.

"Hey, My Chemically imbalanced Romance!" He heard Roman shout.

"Hey, Prince-"

Virgil looked up.

Now, don't get him wrong. He didn't pause mid-sentence or gasp or widen his eyes or anything else so dramatic. He continued his sentence, but in the middle of it he realized just how  _ insanely hot _ Roman King was.

He'd always  _ known _ , objectively speaking, that Roman was above average in the looks department. He'd just never cared. Now it was being cruelly shoved in his face by Roman, who was wearing a loose-fitting jersey and whose hair was damp and curled with sweat. His face was flushed and he was smiling widely, and Virgil swore he was  _ glowing _ with happiness.

_ No way _ , he thought.  _ No way in hell do I have a crush on Roman King. _

"-y," he finished, expression and voice somehow remaining flat.

Roman suddenly slowed to a halt and peered under his hood.

"Stormcloud …" He said, slowly. "Are you  _ blushing _ ?"

"No," Virgil, who was indeed blushing, lied.

Roman's eyes widened, and he laughed. "Yes, you are. You are  _ totally _ blushing underneath all that white foundation."

Virgil glared at him. "Shut up, Roman," he snapped.

Roman shrugged, making the wise choice of letting it go (though he still had a bit of an amused smile on his lips). "So, usually after a game the team goes to Pizza Hut," he said, opening the driver side door.

Virgil got in. "Okay," he said. He didn't much like the thought of hanging out with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys for the next hour (after all the social events he'd attended the past few days, he felt a little drained) but he couldn't exactly back out, now could he?

At the very least, he got a free meal out of it.

* * *

Patton's mom got home later that night.

She told him his dad wouldn't be coming home. They're finally getting a divorce.

Patton didn't know how to react. Should he be sad or happy? On one hand, his parents relationship had been toxic, and no one should stay in a relationship like that. On the other hand, his parents had been together his entire life. Them being divorced would ...change things.

Patton did what he usually did in times of distress: He took out his phone and texted Virgil.

_ My mom just told me she filed for divorce. _

_ Holy shiz. Are you okay? _

_ Yes _

_ No _

_ Maybe _

_ I know the feeling. You want to come over to my place? _

_ No, I think I should stay. _

_ Okay. Try not to worry too much. I'm sure your parents will be fine. _

_ I hope so. Wyd? _

_ Currently eating pizza with the entire flight team. News flash: They have no idea what manners are. _

_ oOF- _

_ Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Logan and I are going to the little bookstore/cafe they have at the mall tomorrow. _

_ Interesting. _

_ I hate it when you say that. Speaking of Logan, how's the whole chess thing going? _

_ Fine. The tournament's in a few weeks. _

_ Good luck. _

_ Thanks. _

_ Gotta go. TTYL? _

_ Always. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've mostly just been setting things up these last few chapters, but next chapter we'll get down to the nitty-gritty.
> 
> I won't promise anything since I obviously suck at deadlines, but I will TRY to get it out by the end of August.


	5. Virgil And Patton Have a Mental Breakdown While Logan And Roman Continue to be Dumb And Proud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: If you read the first chapter before July 29th, I *highly* recomend you go back and re-read it, as I may have added some very important things.
> 
> Second off: I know this chapter is short (compared to my other chapters on this fic), but I'm hoping to make up for it by making next chapter ~extra interesting~
> 
> Enjoy!

Virgil took a deep, deep breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

He was fine. He was okay. Really, he was.

He.

Was.

Fine.

_ Say it enough and maybe it'll come true _ .

Virgil laughed bitterly. It was just so funny. His day had been going well -great, actually, until something had to screw it up, and wasn't that just  _ hilarious? _

Coffee with Logan was ...nice. He was a very entertaining guy to talk to. Virgil taught him how to beat box, which definitely wasn't his calling. In the process he discovered that Logan liked to rap -and was, surprisingly enough, quite good at it. He learned that Logan had an interest in a  _ lot _ of things, from astronomy to ancient Greek mythology to botany. Virgil had never seen him as emotional as when he'd been passionately discussing his interest.

As he said, nice.

But all good things must come to an end, he supposed.

Near the end of their visit, Virgil heard giggling from a few tables over. His anxiety immediately flared up, but he attempted to convince himself he was just being paranoid. His wings instinctively curled closer and the laughter increased.

Logan glared pointedly at the space behind him, and the look on his face told Virgil exactly what was happening more eloquently than words ever could. Against Virgil's sanity, logic, and better judgment, he turned around.

At the ordering counter behind him was a gaggle of high school boys (nobody he recognized, thank God) who were very clearly mocking his too-small wings, pointing and laughing, not even trying to hide it.

The embarrassment hit first, causing his face to burn. The shame hit second, causing him to tuck his wings against him as tightly as he could in an attempt to hide them. The panic hit third, causing him to scowl and stand, snapping at Logan that they were leaving and then hauling ass out of there.

The rage hit fourth. Rage at everything. The boys, obviously, for being such immature dicks that they'd laugh at a disabled person. Himself, his wings, and genetics next, for making him this way. The world for making the fact that he was this way such a big deal.

And he internally raged at Logan, who stayed silent, which was  _ definitely _ not helping Virgil's anxiety. What was he thinking? Probably silently pitying Virgil while simultaneously feeling uncomfortable. If he knew this kind of thing was normal, that people regularly stared at, laughed at, sometimes even flat-out  _ avoided _ Virgil like he had some deadly disease everytime he left the house, would he think being friends was too much of a hassle? It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, or the last.

The worst part? Virgil  _ knew _ that his spiralling thoughts were stupid, that Logan was many things, but a guy who abandoned people because of something like this wasn't one of them. And if anything that made his rage  _ worse _ , because now he was mad at himself again.

In the tense silence, rage turned to resentment. If Patton were there Virgil would vent to him, but Logan and he were barely even acquaintances, let alone friends, and Virgil didn't want to dump all his emotional baggage on the guy.

The melancholy hit fifth, as Virgil dropped Logan off at home -they ended up calling it a day soon after that, Virgil claiming he had an appointment he couldn't miss (which was technically true). They'd started another conversation on the way, which helped evaporate the tension a little.

Virgil sat in his driveway, engine still on. Just, sitting.  _ Trying _ to get his emotions under control.

It was easier said than done. Spiraling thought led to spiraling thought led to spiraling thought, until he went from thinking  _ God, why was I born this way? _ to  _ God, why was I born? _

Needless to say, it was not fun. It wasn't even the situation itself that had gotten to him, but the fact that Logan had  _ seen _ it. Until very, very recently, he and Logan had shared a natural dislike for each other (when did that dislike change, exactly, Virgil couldn't tell you. It had just  _ happened _ , and that was very disturbing to think about, so he tried not to). That, coupled with Virgil's instinct to hide any and all signs of weakness, made the entire situation ten times as worse.

But he  _ did _ have a therapy session to get to, so he forced himself into motion.

After Dee had gone to college, leaving Virgil behind like a toy he no longer wanted to play with, his anxiety and depression had worsened to the point that he could no longer go to school. At the insistence of Patton and his father, he'd switched up his medication and started going to therapy.

Virgil's first therapist was a man in his late twenties named Carl Sweets. Virgil had liked him well enough, he supposed -he was kind and good at his job.

The thing is, at the time nobody knew what had happened between him and Dee -the kids at school knew they'd been together, of course, but nobody knew about the abuse. And Virgil, at the time -oh, who was he kidding, he  _ still _ was- angry and afraid and ashamed of it all.

So, he went into therapy with one rule: He would not, under any circumstances, discuss what had happened between himself and Dee. He broke this rule after less than ten sessions, which resulted in a lot of crap he wouldn't go into detail about. It ended with him being switched to a different therapist -namely, Dr. Rose Burnham, who was currently his second favorite human being in the world (behind Patton, obviously).

Rose looked up at him as he walked in. "And how are we feeling today?" She asked, like she did everyday.

"Pretty fucking terrible, to be honest," he admitted, sitting down heavily on the couch opposite her.

She didn't raise an eyebrow, but her expression perfectly encapsulated the  _ essence  _ of a raised eyebrow, which is an amazing skill Virgil one day hoped to master.

"Oh? And why's that?" She asked.

"First off, I had a panic attack at school a few days ago." He leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Do you know what caused it?" She asked.

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, unable to meet her eyes while he answered. "Yep. Someone called my wings beautiful, and I just-"  _ Relived every bad memory ever _ . He squeezed his lips into a thin line. "You know. Flashbacks. I'd prefer not to talk about it."

Rose knew the words  _ beautiful _ and  _ pretty _ were negative triggers for him, and she knew exactly what memories they brought up, so there was really no need to describe it too vividly.

Rose nodded, silently encouraging him to continue.

"And on top of that, I went out for coffee with a guy, and some  _ assholes _ mocked my wings behind my back - you know, when I say it out loud I just sound dramatic, but the guy I was having coffee with  _ wasn't Patton _ , and the day had been going pretty well beforehand, so it sort of set me off ..." He huffed and shook his head.

As a result of being isolated for most of his life, Virgil always felt like there was some invisible barrier between himself and everyone else when it came to talking -they spoke the same language, sure, but it was like different dialects: Virgil's of biting insults and quips intended to derail or disable, sarcasm and self-deprecation used as a shield, anticipating the next attack and attempting to separate lies from truths, theirs of simple words that never had a double meaning, never spoke lies, where invisible social cues lay between every word like traps meant to catch the unwary.

When people didn't talk to Virgil in his dialect, it made him feel like someone who'd only taken a few years of French classes in high school who now found himself lost in the middle of France. It was difficult, and he stumbled through the words, mispronouncing them with a horrible American accent and absolutely butchering the language.

So far, the only ones who could understand Virgil's dialect were Patton and Rose (Logan and Roman didn't count since they assumed he spoke the same dialect, resulting in frequent mistranslations), and his dad, to some extent.

The point of that metaphorical rant was this: When Virgil said  _ not Patton _ , what he meant was  _ not someone I trust or know that well. An outsider. _

Rose knew this. "You know, Virgil," she drawled, in that tone that suggested she was about to say something she knew he wouldn't like, "I've been meaning to talk to you about your social life sometime soon."

Virgil wrinkled his nose. "And I'm guessing by 'sometime soon' you mean now?"

"In the two years I've known you, I've only heard you talk positively about Patton Charleton, Hannah Grace, many,  _ many _ bands, and, occasionally, your father."

"Hannah Grace is a  _ goddess _ ," Virgil muttered under his breath, which was true (you could fight him on it). Hannah Grace, a very popular YouTuber and activist with BWS, had been on his list of favorite people ever since he'd discovered her. In all honesty, she was part of the reason Virgil had thought he was bisexual (or at least biromantic) for so long.

Rose continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I think it's time for you to attempt to branch out a bit," she said, then paused and waited for him to speak.

Virgil considered. Sometimes -a lot of the time, actually- he got lonely. Sometimes Patton was  _ too much _ , or Virgil knew how he'd respond to a problem so easily it'd be pointless to vent, or Patton had his own problems to deal with and couldn't really help. It was exhausting, being someone else's emotional support when you needed so much yourself (not that Virgil would ever,  **_ever_ ** tell Patton this, God knew what he'd do -probably clam up the way he had at the beginning of their friendship and never tell Virgil about his problems ever again).

"I have," Virgil blurted before he could overthink it. "Branched out. I think. I mean, Patton forced me to, but it still counts. The guy I was having coffee with? He's Logan Gray. Yes,  _ that _ Logan Gray."

Rose's expression had changed to the eyebrow-raise again. She knew exactly what Virgil thought about Logan.

The first time Virgil and Logan had interacted in a significant way was during a tenth grade lab experiment. Virgil didn't even remember what it had been about -something that involved liquids. He knows this because he ended up knocking over a beaker and spilling it all over everything.

Logan had snapped like a taut rubber band, balling up his worksheet and throwing it at Virgil, then looking a little shocked when Virgil broke down and had a panic attack. Tenth grade, as previously mentioned, was the absolute worst year of his life, and he'd been about as fragile as antique China.

It was still one of his most hated memories, especially since it resulted in the shitshow of being sent to therapy for the first time -not that he regretted therapy, but the shame associated with most of his first sessions wasn't something he preferred to reminisce about.

_ (Maybe, if Virgil had known Logan had gotten less than five hours of sleep in the last three days, hadn't eaten anything that day or the previous night, and was approximately 2.5 seconds away from a full-blown mental breakdown, he would've been more sympathetic. But he'd most likely feel guilty, and in any case he never found out, so it really doesn't matter.) _

So Rose knew that Virgil thought Logan was an arrogant know-it-all prick (though, hopefully, she knew his feelings were a bit more complex than that). Which was probably why she looked so surprised.

"Yeah, I know, it's weird, but we've been hanging out lately. He's pretty fun to talk to, once you get past the whole," he gestured vaguely to indicate  _ him _ . "Roman got my phone number after the panic attack, and we've negotiated a truce of sorts. He even invited me to the flight game last night-" Rose frowned. "-yes, I know, and even weirder? I  _ went _ . I'm pretty sure they're planning to murder me."

"You get along with them?" She asked.

"Uh, sort of? I mean, we argue a lot, but that's to be expected. But now it's more like bickering. Nothing too serious." Virgil fidgeted with his hands.

Rose smiled the same way she raised an eyebrow, more with the rest of her expression than with the act itself.

"Well, I'm glad you're making friends. Now, let's talk about your medication …"

* * *

Logan was a set coordinator for the school play. As it drew closer, rehearsals and preparations were getting more frenzied, which meant both Logan and Roman's workload was steadily increasing.

So Logan probably shouldn't have been so startled when, as he was putting up a few of the props, Roman said, "So I heard you and Brad Pitiful went out for coffee today?"

Nevertheless, he jumped, nearly toppling the pile of cardboard props. He steadied himself at the last moment, turning to glare at the other boy as he slumped against the door frame. Roman was still in costume: a prince's uniform of white embroidered in gold and red, a crown balanced lopsidedly on his head.

It was  _ almost _ as ostentatious as he was.

"If by 'Brad Pitiful' you mean Virgil, then yes, I am." Logan set the last the prop in its place and pushed up his glasses, which had slipped dangerously low.

"And," he added, tilting his head thoughtfully, "It would appear as if I'm winning our bet."

"Think again, bird brain." Roman smirked and stood up straight, spreading his wings a little so they perfectly framed his body. "I got Virgil to go to a sports event. Reasonably sure it's the first time he's voluntarily been outside in years."

"That alone doesn't mean he considers you a friend," Logan (quite sensibly, he thought) pointed out.

Roman's face twisted; his wings folded against his back and he took a few steps forward. "True," he admitted, "Then again, it's only been a few days. I doubt a winner could be declared by now."

"Most likely," Logan agreed, then paused. "Perhaps we should rethink the parameters for this bet. How are we supposed to know when we've become friends with Virgil? How does one define friendship?" He wondered aloud.

Roman spent a moment in intense concentration. " ...You may have a point." He admitted reluctantly, then huffed. "Fine, then. First person who gets Stormcloud to call them their friend wins?"

Logan nodded. "Deal," he said, thinking that if he won, maybe Roman would stop relentlessly teasing him about being an emotionless, friendless robot (and maybe he could finally prove it to himself).

Roman smiled, once again spreading his wings ever-so-slightly. "Deal," he said, thinking that if he won the bet Logan would have to admit that he was a confident, friendly, all-around good person (maybe he would even convince himself).

* * *

And Patton? Well, he was a little busy staring at his bedroom wall as his life fell apart around him.

He and his mom were keeping the house -for now. Knowing his dad, they wouldn't be for long. In fact, they were currently arguing about this over the phone.

Patton took a deep, deep breath, tilting his head back and putting his hands over his eyes.

_ I'm fine _ , he told himself, and tried to mean it.

Speaking of his life falling apart, there was still the problem of Virgil, Roman, and Logan, his three best friends who had never gotten along that well.

Patton wasn't an idiot. He didn't  _ know _ anything, not for sure, but after spending his entire life surrounded by it, he knew what hostile tension felt like. The three had always had some, thrumming under the surface, but it had never been this bad -at least, not  _ just _ between Roman and Logan. Virgil seemed oddly excluded from it, which was strange and didn't feel like an all together  _ good _ thing.

His head hurt when he thought about it too long. Maybe he should just hope that whatever's going on doesn't end up hurting anyone, if it hasn't already.

Patton sighed. "Life is too complicated."


	6. Roman Gets An Unwanted Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: yes, I added chapter titles. The only reason I didn't before was ~aesthetics~, but then I was like "y'know what? It's my fanfic, I'll do what I want."
> 
> Second off: I'm sorry this took so long. I meant to write it sooner, but my laziness got the best of me.
> 
> However, I promised this chapter would be ~extra interesting~, and let it be known I'm a non-binary pal who keeps their promises.
> 
> Warning: The f-slur is said, mentions of unwanted sexual/romantic advances.

Nearly a week has passed, and Roman is slowly but surely **beginning to lose his** **_fucking_ ** **mind.**

Just get Virgil to call Roman his friend. Sounds easy enough, doesn't it? Sounds simple? Sounds like something that would take minimal effort? Something that wouldn't take days of planning and over eleven _-eleven!_ \- failed attempts?

You'd be dead fucking **_wrong_** is what you'd be.

First off, there was the issue of actually getting him to say it. When does one ask, "By the way, would you consider me a friend?" in everyday conversation?

Then there was the problem of getting Virgil to admit it when Logan just-so-happened to be around, which -trust him- sounded easy, but was _not_.

Last, but not least, was the problem of Virgil being a sarcastic, _defensive_ , **_evasive son of a bITCH_ ** who parkoured around the subject of friendship like it was an _Olympic fucking sport_.

The day after they'd renegotiated the terms, Roman had decided on simply texting Virgil. It was the best course of action, he figured, since it would give him irrefutable proof he could then (physically, if he was feeling extra petty) rub in Logan's face, and then he could quit this charade and go back to his-

Wait.

Roman stopped, staring at his phone, thumb still hovering over Virgil's contact (put as Stormcloud, obviously).

After this dare, what exactly did Roman plan to _do_ about his newfound friendship with Stormcloud?

Friendship? Was it a friendship? Did _Roman_ consider it a friendship?

No. Of course he didn't. Virgil was -well, he was a lot of things: Infuriating, creepy, pitiful, rude, defensive, sarcastic, but a _friend_ was not one of them.

_(And yes, sometimes he was ...less than horrible, sometimes Roman got glimpses of a kind person, the kind of person who bought his friends first edition books and would soften, ever so slightly, for them, but so what? Bad people can do good things. That doesn't make them good people._

_And besides, how could he trust someone who used to associate with his asshole of a brother, however distantly? How could he make that mistake again_ _after Damien_ _?_

 _And how could he lose to someone like Logan?_ _If his brother knew, his teasing laughs would never have stopped_ _.)_

Surely this strange relationship of theirs would run its course and die on its own.

_(Right?)_

Roman shook himself out of his thoughts and sent Virgil the damn text.

_Hey, Stormcloud, we're friends, aren't we?_

_Why? What do you want?_

_Just answer the question._

_I find this highly suspicious. But we're not really friends in the traditional sense, are we? More like …partners. Acquaintances. Countries that have long been at war reluctantly swearing a truce for the sake of both countries welfare and for the welfare of their mutual ally._

_What a polite and oddly poetic way to tell me to go fuck myself_

_Hey, man, you wanted the truth. Now, why the question?_

_Just trying to prove a point_

And on it went. Roman's attempts failed -miserably, and repeatedly. The only consolation he got was witnessing Logan's attempts fail just as miserably and just as repeatedly.

Just when Roman was on the verge (ha ha, get it?) of straight-up _decking_ Virgil, he overheard him and Patton discussing a shopping spree they had planned for this weekend. That alone had Roman on board (he was _always_ down for random shopping sprees; a prince has got to slay, after all), but after learning that the purpose of said shopping spree was to give the two of them a _makeover_ , he knew he had to see this.

Once he found out Logan was coming as well, he knew that this was it. He was going to settle this bet, _this_ Saturday.

And when Roman King was determined to do something, you bet your ass he either did it or died trying.

"Verge, sweetie, just come on out! I'm sure you look fine," Pattpn called from where he'd been standing outside the dressing room for about ten minutes, attempting to coax a very stubborn Virgil outside.

"I never should've let you talk me into this," Virgil said darkly, voice slightly muffled by the door. "I look ridiculous."

"More than you already did? I highly doubt that," Roman drawled in an attempt to get him to _come out_ already. They were starting to get weird looks from other shoppers.

"You're one to talk, Princey," Virgil snapped, enough sarcasm in his voice to fuel New York city.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Roman said, pushing himself from the wall he'd been leaning on. Mock him for anything else, sure, but he firmly drew the line at his fashion sense (and his acting skills, but that was an argument for another time).

Patton gave him _a look_ that said nothing but communicated everything, and Roman reluctantly settled back into his relaxed position.

"Come on, Verge. Promise we won't laugh," Patton tried again.

"It's hardly as if we're going to judge you for your appearance," Logan said matter-of-factly, pushing up his glasses.

A deep, deep, sigh that was somehow filled with all the sorrow and bone-weary exasperation of centuries was heard. "...Fine."

The door knob finally turned, and Virgil finally, _finally_ stepped out.

He looked ...Roman blinked as Virgil shifted his wings to reveal his full body. Okay, so. This was a first.

Before that day, Roman had never, to his knowledge, seen Virgil in any color lighter than dark gray, or without a hoodie (at least, not since elementary school).

So, to see the scowling emo (who had stubbornly refused to remove his eyeshadow or push his hair out of his eyes) in a pastel blue short sleeve and white jeggings, white cardigan wrapped around himself with the sleeves pulled over his hands was ...an experience. Not a _bad_ experience, but a weird one, and sort of jarring. It was like seeing a wolf in the middle of a playground, or a lion in your living room; something dangerous in a normally safe and happy setting.

Patton cooed and clapped. Logan blinked in an almost-flustered sort of way. Roman gaped like a dead fish.

"You look ...different," Patton said thoughtfully, tilting his head like a curious puppy. " _Really_ different."

"I've never seen you without your hoodie," Roman said, aware all-too-late that he was giving Virgil a full body check. In an attempt to cover it up, he hastily added, "You look nice."

Logan cleared his throat. "Yes, extremely aesthetically appealing."

Virgil blushed, scowling and rolling his eyes, wings fluttering in a distinctly embarrassed gesture before he promptly turned and walked back into the dressing room. When he came out, wearing his regular black jeans and gray-and-black hoodie, he deposited the previous outfit into the cart like it was trash -seriously, grimace and all- and looked at Patton. "Okay," he said, scowl instantly transforming into a wicked smirk, "Your turn."

Virgil was hellbent on getting Patton the most emo get-up he could possibly find, but Roman was too distracted to really pay attention. He had a plan. Of sorts. Well, not really, but he had a vague _outline_ of a plan, which was good enough.

The outline went a bit like this:

Step one: Find something Virgil may conceivably wear and like.

Step two: Buy it for him.

Step three: ???

He'd work out the details later. Right now he was feeling a tad bit exhausted, creatively and otherwise -from his rehearsals, which had been getting progressively more frenzied as the night of the play drew nearer, from his previous attempts at getting Virgil to call him a friend, from schoolwork (which the teachers really seemed to be piling on lately) from his parents, who were now dragging him to parties to show him off to their friends almost every night -and, of course, there was the impending apocalypse of college drawing ever-nearer that he had to worry about.

 _Pull yourself together, man_ , he thought at himself, shaking out of his thoughts. _Focus, focus. What would Virgil wea-_

"Perfect," a voice interrupted his train of thought. He turned to see Virgil triumphantly holding a mass of black cloth, looking far happier than he had any right to.

As it turns out, Virgil is a rather rigorous fashion critic. When the all-black ensemble wasn't to his liking, he enlisted Roman's help picking out some other clothes and accessories (he attempted to enlist Logan's as well, but the nerd mostly just shrugged and said, "It looks okay.").

In the end, Patton ended up wearing a neon blue shirt with an unknown symbol on it (it was either a satanic symbol or a band of some sort; with Virgil both were equally possible), ripped black jeans with chains and zippers for days, heavy black boots with neon blue laces, a black leather jacket with silver studs on the shoulders, fingerless biker gloves, multiple studded armbands that reached nearly to his elbows, and a _choker_ (a simple black chain, but still, Patton Charleton in a choker? _Illegal_ ). Virgil had even forced his naturally curly and previously untamable hair into swooping over his eyes (apparently he brought hair gel and a comb with him everywhere???).

"This is illegal," Roman said the moment Patton stepped out of the dressing room, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Unnatural. Change back immediately. _Go_."

Virgil looked as if he was struggling to contain himself, hand covering his mouth as his shoulders shook with repressed laughter. Logan tilted his head and looked at Patton in a curious way, but said nothing.

Patton looked down at himself, biting his cheek in a certifiably adorable way. "You know," he said, "I _think_ the choker may be overkill."

And that set Virgil off. It started as a small, tremulous, wheezy barely-there laugh, then progressed into a giggle, then a chuckle, and then Virgil was _laughing_ , full belly laughter interspersed with snorts and giggles.

Everybody stared. Patton, Roman, Logan, some random dude who happened to be walking by.

Again, it was _weird and new_ but not all-around _bad_ , almost like watching a panther chase a laser, eyes bright with joy as it pounces; witnessing a predator, something that's supposed to be stoic and serious and capable of killing you easily, do something happy for happiness' sake.

It was strange and a little obnoxious and wonderful and world-tilting and _beautiful_ all at once.

Then it stopped; abruptly and totally, Virgil smothering it -almost physically, it seemed, with his hand over his mouth- and wrapping his wings around himself protectively. Roman didn't miss the red creeping up his cheeks.

There was a long, long moment of awkwardness. Patton was the only one brave enough to explore it.

"Well," he said, "I'll take the shirt, pants, and jacket. Fair?"

Virgil immediately jumped to his feet, switching from embarrased to indignant in 2.5 seconds flat. "Oh, absolutely not. You _have_ to take at least a _few_ of the armbands -and _yes_ , the choker. Maybe not the shoes …"

Once they settled on the outfit (the choker ended up going, much to Virgil's -and Roman's- dismay) they walked out of the dressing room, intent on finding Logan's outfit next.

Roman, to his delight, got to pick this one out. After taking in Logan's usual attire, he decided to go for something bright and wild. Something that signified the complete and total opposite of serious.

A few minutes later, he looked over the gathered clothes. _Logan is going to_ hate _this_ , he thought, snickering. And, judging from his facial expression when Roman handed the clothes over, he did.

Perfect.

He waited, way more excited than he probably should have been, until Logan stepped out from the stall.

It looked ...even better than he'd expected.

The white shirt with the phrase "Kick it!", neon green jacket, and ripped blue jeans were bad enough. When you added the brightly colored baseball cap, multiple gold chains dangling from his neck, and the sunglasses, he looked like the love child of a 1980's skater boy and a wannabe gang member.

Roman lifted a finger, beating back his giggles with superhuman willpower. "One thing," he said, stepping forward and turning the baseball cap around on Logan's head before stepping back to admire his work. " _Perfect_."

Everyone laughed, except for Roman, who simply watched Logan turn and walk back into the stall, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "God, what have I become?"

"You know, Princey," Virgil said, suddenly next to him (how did he do that? Did he teleport?), "You're the only one left who hasn't gotten an outfit."

Roman looked down at him. Virgil was smiling, and not in a nice way.

Which is how, five minutes later, Roman ended up following the emo down the aisles, desperately surveying everything he considered.

" _No_. I hate green."

"That doesn't fit my figure!"

"My mom would _kill_ me if she saw me wear that!"

"Virgil, please, I beg of you-"

He stopped. Frowned. Backtracked a few steps.

No, he hadn't imagined it. On the clothes rack a few yards over, there was a black hoodie, violet patches stitched into it.

"What?" Virgil asked, snapping Roman out of his thoughts.

"Uh, nothing," he said quickly. "Go for it."

Virgil looked at him suspiciously, but shrugged and continued through the aisles.

Roman took the hoodie off the rack. It was exactly Virgil's size. It even had a tiny stormcloud sown into the front. The signs couldn't have been clearer.

He glanced over at the larger Stormcloud, who was still perusing the options while muttering to himself like an old witch.

He looked back at the hoodie before quickly snatching it off the rack. Virgil would be busy for a while, he figured, and the other two were hanging out outside the dressing room. If he hurried, he'd have time to buy it.

When he returned, bag in hand, he dropped it next to a chair outside the dressing room. Logan and Patton didn't look up until he dramatically threw himself into said chair.

"Where's Virgil?" Patton asked.

Roman shrugged. "I-"

"Right here." Virgil materialized from the shadows, stack of clothes in hand. He smirked in Roman's direction. "You're gonna _love_ this," he said in a tone that suggested that Roman would not, in fact, love it.

Roman did not, in fact, love it.

Either Virgil knew him _far_ better than he thought or he was psychic. Roman didn't know which option was more disturbing.

The outfit, for all those wondering, was a bit like Logan's regular outfit -that is to say, dreadfully dull and unimaginative.

Oh yeah, and the tie was lime green.

"I have never hated you more than in this exact moment," Roman said as Virgil smiled gleefully. "You are everything that's wrong with this country."

Their laughter followed him back into the stall.

When all was said and done, they trudged to the check out together.

"What's that?" Patton asked upon seeing the bag Roman was holding.

Roman shrugged. "Just something I bought." Feeling the need to explain, he added, "It's a gift."

"For who?"

"A friend." _In a manner of speaking_.

"What is it?"

Virgil was less than five feet away. He'd hear. "I can't tell you. It's a surprise," Roman said, throwing a significant look at the emo.

Patton looked confused for a moment, glancing from Virgil to Roman. Then understanding dawned on him, and he smiled. "Oooh."

"Yeah."

After checking out, Patton suggested they leave the bags in their cars and go out to eat, with many a pointed glance at Roman, who had driven Virgil here and had agreed to drive him back home.

Just before Virgil opened the car door, Roman handed the bag to him. "I got you something," he said as casually as possible, leaning against the car.

Virgil looked at the bag suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

"Princey, I swear if this is some kind of joke-"

"It's _not_ , I swear. Just open it. Please?"

Virgil frowned at him, but opened the bag and drew out the hoodie regardless.

There was silence for a long, long moment. Roman wondered why his heart was beating so fast. _Thump thump thump thump._

Virgil, still frowning, said in a quiet voice, "You got this for me?"

Roman shrugged. _Thump thump thump thump_. "That's what friends do, isn't it?"

Virgil looked up. He was still frowning, but it seemed more puzzled than doubtful. He opened his mouth to say something.

_Thump thump thump th-_

Roman's phone rang, cutting them both off and shattering the moment into a million tiny pieces. He cursed internally as he pulled out his phone.

Then he saw the caller ID. His heart stopped, then picked up speed as if to make up for lost time, thundering loudly in his ears.

 **_Thump thump thump thump_ **-

"Can Patton drive you home?" Roman asked, hearing his voice crack.

**_Thump thump th-_ **

"Yeah, but -hey, are you okay-?"

**_Thump thump thump t-_ **

Roman was already climbing into the car. "Yeah, it's just- uh, family emergency, I have to go-"

**_Thump th-_ **

He slammed the door and pulled out of the parking space. His phone stopped ringing, then started again as the person called back.

**_Thump thump thump thump-_ **

Roman pulled to the side of the road, staring at his phone in undiluted horror.

**_Thump thump thUMP THUMP-_ **

He answered it.

**_THUMP THUMP TH-_ **

"Remus, how the _fuck_ did you get my number?"

* * *

Roman shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic bench. The diner lights seemed too bright, the whirring of the air conditioners too loud.

Being here made him nervous. He'd been avoiding the diner for years now. When he was a kid his parents used to take him and Remus here, before his dad had gotten rich, before …

He shook his head. No. Too many memories. His heart was beating fast enough.

There was a ring as the diner doors opened. Roman's head snapped up. It was just a lone woman.

He took a deep breath. His throat was dry. He sipped at his water, then shook his head again. He needed to stop. Remus would sense his fear; he'd always been able to, even when they were kids.

Another ring. Roman looked up.

It was him.

Remus looked different from the last time they'd seen each other. His hair had gotten lighter, the blonde streak now stark white and the brown a dirty blonde. His clothes were cleaner, if only slightly -now more of a stylistic grungy than downright trashy. His god awful moustache was still there, but he suspected it always would be. Bad style choices die hard. And, of course, his wings were the same: Black edged with green and scattered with silver, as poorly groomed as ever.

When Remus saw his brother, he smiled. His eyes were surrounded by purple eyeshadow. Bad style choices ...

Roman stared at him as he walked over. He knew he was clenching his coffee mug just a little too tightly, breathing just a little too hard, his eyes just a little too wide, hwings held just a little too stiffly, but he couldn't help it.

Roman's brother _scared_ him, even now.

Remus sat down across from him.

"Damien's in prison."

Straight to the point then. Remus had never been good at small talk.

Roman ignored the way his heart jumped at the name. "No surprise there," he said, going for condescending and missing the mark by a light year.

Remus ignored him. "He got caught running an online scam -I knew about it but I didn't think it was so big. He calls me, though. All the time."

"Good for you. Why couldn't you tell me this over the phone?"

"He misses you, Ro."

Roman's heart stopped.

Damien Mendax and Remus had been thick as thieves since sixth grade -an apt analogy, since they were both thieves.

Damien and Roman had been friends at one point, though it all kind of ground to a stop when Damien started getting creepy, more so than usual, hitting on him (looking back he realized that Damien had been hitting on him for a while, piling him with compliments and flattery, but he'd never noticed) even though everyone knew he was dating a freshman at the time.

So to hear that he missed Roman was a shock.

Remus continued. "He talks about you all the time, asks me how you're doing. Most of the time I have to tell him I don't know."

"What do you want, Remus?"

Remus didn't look at him with a surprised or offended expression, didn't gasp or ask what he meant.

He was, as always, straight to the point.

"He gets out in a week, and he's coming back. Plans on visiting you."

Roman grip tightened so much he thought the glass would crack. "No," he said immediately, without thought.

Remus smiled; more like a vicious sideways smirk, really. "Come on, Ro. You can't say no to Damien. You of all people should know that."

"I of all people _do_ know that. And the answer is still no."

Roman stood up, intending to ask for the check and leave, but Remus spoke again.

"Come on, don't pretend you suddenly hate him. You forget: I know you better than anyone else. I know how you felt. Anyone could see it," Remus sneered. "You were all over him. Only stopped 'cause you heard he had a boyfriend; should've known you'd be too stupid and righteous to accept a good thing when it was offered to you."

Roman paused and looked down, feeling his cheeks flush and eyes prickle. It wasn't _fair_ that Remus could still get to him like this after all these years.

Remus snorted. "Of course. You're still scared, aren't you? Of yourself. Still can't accept your feelings after all these years. Jesus, Roman, you're a fag -is it really that hard to accept? It's not like anyone's judging you; God knows mom would show you off like a token of diversity, and dad would be right behind her. Now you're just being pathetic."

 _How can Remus know something I didn't even know until recently?_ he thought.

Roman took a deep breath. He needed to get _out_ of here, and he knew the only way to escape Remus was to put his foot down. "Tell Damien that if he comes anywhere near me -or Virgil, for that matter- I'll kill him. And the same goes for you."

Remus actually looked surprised for once, most likely at Roman's sudden resolve and his mention of Virgil. Remus and Damien had gone to great lengths to keep the fact that he even _had_ a boyfriend secret, let alone his name.

Roman hurried to leave, but not fast enough to miss Remus muttering, "As if you'd have the will, you coward."

At least Remus had to pay for his coffee.

Although knowing his brother, he'd just leave without paying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *leans back and sips tea*  
> I regret nothing.
> 
> Oh yeah, and be sure to leave comments! They're half my motivation for writing.


	7. The Author -I Mean VIRGIL is Very Traumatized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is (almost) late. I have a lot of reasons and things I need to say, but I'll put them in the end notes as some of them contain spoilers.
> 
> My main tumblr is @mattiebluebird if you wanna come scream at me about the book (or anything else).
> 
> Warnings: Negative self-talk, especially with emotions (i.e, your emotions making you weak/vulnerable/stupid) throughout the chapter, mentions and vague descriptions of bullying (nothing too extreme, I would say), explicitly described PTSD flashbacks, an almost panic attack, and self-harm (biting the tongue/cheeks and digging nails into your skin, to be specific. There's no c/u/t/t/i/n/g, b/u/r/n/i/n/g, etc.).
> 
> There are two flashbacks, both in italic and both clearly marked out from the rest of the text by three hyphens (---) at the beginning and end.
> 
> For example:
> 
> Safe text  
> \---  
> Possibly triggering flashback  
> \---  
> Safe text
> 
> The first flashback contains physical abuse (with a belt), the second contains being drowned. I'll have short summaries of the flashbacks in the end notes if you want to read those, but not reading them won't really take away from the story.
> 
> This chapter is dark. Please stay safe, y'all, and let me know if there's anything else that I should warn about.

Logan watched Patton and Virgil as they walked a few steps ahead of him. After Roman's sudden takeoff, they'd decided to continue without him and go out for lunch at a diner farther in town.

Patton spread his wings as he spoke, smiling at Virgil like he was the only thing that mattered. Virgil stared at him the same way.

Logan's relationship with Patton Charleton was ...complicated, to say the least. He'd never really taken notice of him until around eighth grade, and even then he'd been only on his periphery, just another -albeit nicer- stranger among other strangers.

Sometime in ninth grade -he couldn't exactly pinpoint where- his indifference morphed to resentment. How could Patton stay so happy all the time? What was his secret? Why wasn't he as stressed as  Logan the rest of them?

But his resentment quickly turned to a sense of superiority, even amusement, at Patton's happiness. He believed the other boy to be a naive, innocent simpleton oblivious to the horrors of reality. So of course when he found out Patton was signing up for chess club, he expected him to lose every game in two moves flat.

Patton ended up being one of the best chess players the school had ever seen, second only to Logan (and even that was debatable).

However, it took a two hour long match between the two of them, during which they had a rather personal conversation, and which Logan lost, before he even  _ began _ to respect the other boy. And it took several months for Logan to admit to  _ himself _ , let alone others, that he liked Patton, found his company enjoyable -and even considered him a friend.

Which was weird, because Logan had never had many friends. And by  _ many _ , he meant  _ any _ .

The majority of it, he thought, was because he'd switched schools in fifth grade, effectively cutting him off from any of his old friends. And once at the new school -well, Logan had never been very good at first impressions, and before he knew it, years had passed.

Patton said something -probably a pun- and Virgil smiled in that way he did, barely a lifting of the mouth, and let out a short huff of laughter. He didn't laugh or smile often, Logan had noted. And he'd never seen his wings so relaxed.

Logan watched Virgil mock-push Patton, quickly resulting in a shoving match. If his relationship with Patton was complicated, his relationship with the dark-winged boy was downright  _ insane _ .

It was strange to think that just a little over a week ago his opinion of Virgil had been much, much lower than it was now. He'd thought the boy needlessly creepy, unnecessarily rude, and a bit of an attention seeker if he was being honest with himself. When it came to most people, Logan simply didn't see the appeal, but with Virgil it was a bit more than indifference; he'd felt  _ wary _ around him, though he doubted the boy would harm him, and also greatly doubted Patton would be best friends with someone who would.

Over the course of the past week, Logan had discovered -and these were purely objective findings- that Virgil's snarky and oftentimes rude demeanor was a defense -a metaphorical wall, if you will- against some type of perceived threat, and that once you managed to get past it (which wasn't an easy thing to do; if they were sticking to the metaphor, Logan was just beginning to make cracks in the outermost wall) there was ...something. He wasn't sure what that something was, exactly, since it had only shown itself to him in flashes -an almost smile, a laugh, a statement that could be seen as an insult or compliment depending on countless factors, an unreadable emotion shielded by an intense stare- but he was sure it was a sight to behold. His "creepiness", Logan was growing more and more sure, was simply social ineptitude attempting to disguise itself as aloofness.

That was all purely objective, of course.

_ God, I'm starting to sound like Roman with all these flowery metaphors _ , he thought.

Speaking of Roman …

Logan considered himself to be a fairly logical thinker -prided himself on it, in fact. So of course he knew, logically speaking, that the entire bet he had with Roman was -well,  _ stupid _ and would likely do more harm than good.

But his heart seized and his stomach roiled every time he thought of ending the bet. The entire thing was tangled web of emotions and deceit he was too entwined with to escape. He could call it off, just end it now, but that would be admitting defeat, and that was not an option.  _ Especially  _ not to Roman.

He could not lose. He could not be weak. He could not let his emotions get in the way.

"You good, Logan?" Virgil asked, suddenly beside him. A few days ago he would've flinched; now he just nodded, all too familiar with Virgil's uncanny ability to -what was the term?-  _ sneak up on people _ .

"I'm fine," he said, "Just thinking."

"I know I'll probably regret this," Virgil said, that almost-smile back in place, "But what are you thinking about?"

Obviously, Logan couldn't tell the whole truth, but that didn't necessarily mean he had to lie either. "I was considering ...our relationship."

Virgil's eyebrows rose; Logan would've been embarrassed if that were an emotion he were capable of feeling. "Really?" The dark-winged boy drawled, reaching up to push hair away from storm-dark eyes. "Anything in particular stand out about it?"

Logan also prided himself on being observant, especially of body language -he  _ had _ to be, because ...well, that wasn't important right now. What  _ was _ important was Virgil, who tended to stare at people with frightening intensity and vigilance, as if he were waiting for the slightest sign of danger.

"Yes, quite a few things do," Logan said, voice too soft for his own good.

Whatever would've been said next didn't matter, as they were now at the diner. Patton got the table for them; the seating arrangement ended up with Patton and Logan sharing one side of a booth with Virgil sitting alone on the other, gaze pinned once again on Logan, though he detected a more ... _ hostile _ emotion behind it. He couldn't be sure what it was.

Patton, as always, was animated and talkative; Logan admired his ability to keep up one-sided conversation. Patton, unlike Roman, kept his wings folded loosely across his back in public, an unwritten social rule the more obnoxious boy never failed to break.

After they'd ordered their food, Virgil excused himself to use the restroom, eyes sliding from Patton to Logan and packed with emotions he couldn't decipher -a kind, almost longing expression aimed at the sky-winged boy, and a sharper, hostile, yet ... _ relenting _ look toward Logan. Patton shot back a confused and slightly suspicious look, to which Virgil just looked away, wings spreading to cover his back -a defensive stance.

The entire interaction confused him, and he didn't like that, so he chose to ignore it.

He instead focused on Patton, who was looking at him with almost as much intensity as Virgil. What Patton said took him by surprise, even after all these years.

"Are you okay?"

Logan blinked as he rapidly examined the last few days, wondering what would've made Patton suspect something was off. "Of course," he answered, voice almost  _ -almost- _ a little higher than usual.

Was he okay? He wasn't sure, but saying he was seemed the path of least resistance.

Patton tilted his head like a curious puppy ( _ or like a tiger that's heard rustling in the bushes _ , he thinks to himself) and his eyes narrowed, slightly, nearly imperceptibly, and Logan tensed on instinct before realizing he wasn't angry or suspicious. He was wearing the same expression he wore when he was playing chess and trying to determine his next move. He was  _ concentrating _ , thinking, weighing his pros and cons, risks and rewards.

Logan didn't like that comparison. He was no puzzle to be solved or challenge to be conquered.

Nonetheless, Patton's scrutiny made his heartbeat accelerate.

"Are you just saying that because it's easier," Patton asks, voice soft with -concern? Care?  _ Love? _ \- "Or are you actually okay?"

Logan blinked, at a figurative crossroads. This was ...unusual. Most people don't inquire about his wellbeing beyond the casual "How are you?" and even those who  _ do _ aren't, well -he's always had the impulse to tell the truth, but he's never met anyone whom he could  _ trust _ with the truth. Until Patton Charleton, that is.

Logan Gray was not an idiot. He's high IQ, leader of the chess and debate team, has all A's and wa already applying to colleges. He's also, apparently, a complete and total idiot, because his mouth opened and said  _ entirely  _ without his permission, "The former, I suspect."

Patton frowned like he actually cared. "What's wrong?"

Logan realized with a sudden and startling clarity how close they were sitting, and he moved away, hoping it would lower his heartbeat. "It's nothing, really. I am just ...stressed out? Is that the correct usage?"

"Yes, and what are you stressed about?"

"I'm not quite sure," Logan admitted, feeling the impulse to fidget intensify as those stupid,  _ stupid _ emotions of his bubbled to the surface. 

_ Not right now _ , he thought, viciously biting into his tongue in an attempt to  _ focus _ on something else, anything but the embarrassment and vulnerability and memories ( _ dozens of them _ ) and the ongoing chant in the back of his head telling him to  _ shut up, he can handle this, he shouldn't need some stupid, naive boy to help him if he's so smart- _

For the bare split second before Patton responded, Logan tensed, expecting a reprimand or cold dismissal, a confused  _ What do you mean you don't know? _ or an angry  _ Well, come back to me when you figure it out _ or even a sweet and sympathetic  _ That's your problem, Lo _ . That somehow terrifies him most of all.

But Patton, as he had done since the beginning, demolished his expectations.

"Why don't we talk about something else?"

Logan looked at him - _ stared _ , really, for much longer than he ought to. He knew logically that distraction is exactly what he needed to keep his thoughts and emotions from spiraling, but he didn't expect  _ Patton _ to know that.

For a moment the idea of someone  _ knowing _ him so deeply terrified him, but ...it's Patton. It's  _ Patton _ . And for whatever reason, that calmed him.

And then his heart was beating faster for entirely different reasons.

* * *

The day Virgil and Patton met, the dark-winged boy was sure he was a demon in disguise.

It made the most sense. No one attempted to talk to Virgil anymore. Most of his bullies had moved on or graduated. Now the most attention he ever got was people bumping into him in hallways and occasionally stealing his stuff; small snickers when a spotlight was put on him (oral reports were  _ hell _ ); and, of course, the gossip that spread when he had panic attacks and flashbacks.

But for the most part, he had faded into the background, for which he was grateful.

He got paired with Patton on some group assignment like a cliché fanfic. Virgil's first impression of him was "Idiot Teenage Boy (Now With More Emotion!)". The sky-winged boy  _ almost _ got him to smile for the first time in over three months with one of his puns, probably would have succeeded if Virgil hadn't made eye contact with him right at the punchline and immediately gone into a flashback.

**\---**

_That one he still remembered, in stark detail: Dee staring him in the eyes as he held Virgil's upper arm in a death grip, nails digging into the skin, smile more of a snarl as he hissed in that tone Virgil had come to dread, "I thought I told you to behave. Must you always be so embarrassing?" Virgil's back against a wall, the feeling of being trapped and overpowered and so damn_ ** _helpless_** _, the panic as Dee shoved him back and he fell to the ground desperately trying to stifle his sobs as he heard the tell-tale swoosh_ _of the belt._

_ "Stand up." Dee's voice was commanding but also sympathetic and resigned, as if to say: I don't want to do this but I have to, so don't make it any harder than it needs to be. _

_ Virgil didn't want to stand up. He didn't want to do a single thing Dee told him to. This was wrong. It  _ **_felt_ ** _ wrong -but what if it wasn't? What if Dee was justified? What if it really  _ was _ Virgil's fault, and he'd get laughed halfway across the state if he told someone it was "abuse"? After all, he's always been a bit ...sensitive. _

_ If he didn't stand up soon, he'd get spanked (hated that word, hated the way it sounded, hated it hated it  _ **_hated it_ ** _ ) across his shoulders and arms and the backs of his hands and thighs and legs. That would be much worse than a few lashes across his behind. _

_ So he stood up -he  _ **_tried_ ** _ to, he really did- but his legs were shaking and he fell again, and before he could get up Dee's hand was on his arm, somehow tighter and much more brutal, yanking him to his feet and shoving him to the couch, where Virgil bent over and tried his best to breathe evenly and most importantly,  _ **_be silent_ ** _. _

_ There's something especially humiliating, he remembers thinking, about being spanked. Running away just makes it worse, and fighting back just makes it worse, so you're only option is to just stand there and take it, which, in a way, feels like agreeing to it. _

_ He especially remembered going home afterward and his dad asking how his day was.  _

_ Virgil had replied in a flat, emotionless voice, "Fine." Silently he begged his dad to realize something was off, to notice the stiffness in the way he walked, to catch a glimpse of his bruises, to inquire any further into his life, to just fucking  _ **_look_ ** _ at him for once. _

_ His dad, not even looking up from his phone, had said, "Good." _

_ The conversation ended there. The conversation  _ **_always_ ** _ ended there. _

**\---**

Patton attempted to talk to him on the day Virgil got back to school. Virgil let him, though he didn't really respond, too emotionally exhausted and terrified of intimacy to attempt a relationship of any sort. This one-sided dialogue continued, and Patton never set off another flashback or panic attack again (thankfully).

Once he got past, well ... _ Patton _ , as well as his learned instinct to be skeptical of any kindness, he found he enjoyed the other boy's company. He knew when to be quiet and when not to be; spoke casually about Virgil's BWS, but not in a forced way; and he respected Virgil's personal space, which almost no one else did.

A month later Virgil realized they were friends.

Virgil took a deep breath, inhaled for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, exhaled for eight, the way Rose taught him. He turned on the faucet of the bathroom sink to splash water on his face.

He let out a whimper -an actual, honest-to-god  _ whimper _ \- as he felt the hands gripping at his hair, shoving his head down into the water.

_ Not real not real not real _ , he chanted. He remembered this one too, though it was more vague:

**\---**

_ He'd stood up to Dee for once, refused to apologize to Remus for calling him a pervert, and as punishment they'd filled the sink with water and dunked his head again and again and again until he said sorry. _

_ He didn't remember what happened after, just the before and during: thrashing, sobbing, begging for it to stop, hands pushing frantically against the sink, gasping for air, water being shoved up his nose and down his throat, Dee asking coldly "Ready to apologize yet?" and Virgil shaking his head, refusing to lower himself that far just yet, even after everything, still wanting to keep a single fucking  _ **_shred_ ** _ of his dignity, just one. Dee had shoved his head back under, again and again until he just  _ **_couldn't_ ** _ he needed air he needed to breathe he didn't want to die here oh god please don't let me die PLEASE. _

_ Virgi thinks that maybe afterwards he'd collapsed to the floor with a feeling of having been defeated, of having surrendered, of being beaten into the dust again and again until he just -broke. Couldn't keep going anymore. _

_ He thinks that maybe Dee had said something before he left Virgil lying on that kitchen tile, something along the lines of, "Should've just said sorry." _

**\---**

Virgil backed away from the sink, turned away from the mirror, couldn't look, couldn't see himself like  _ this _ , all panicked and wide-eyed and weepy and ruffled wings and  **weak** . He'd already seen himself like that far too many times, didn't care to look again.

His nails were digging into the skin of his forearm and he was biting his cheek so hard he was sure there'd be blood but he needed the pain to bring him out of that nightmare and into the real world. He needed it to  _ focus _ , to calm down, to overcome the emotions that had only ever done him harm.

Virgil did his breathing exercise, a familiar 4-7-8 rhythm. Slowly, one by one, he untensed every muscle in his body, steadfastly ignoring the voices in his head and the urge gathering beneath his skin.

When he was done, he thought about the situation for a moment. Patton was moving on, that much was obvious. He'd hung out with Roman and Logan a little before, but never this much, and never this often. On top of that he'd been hanging out with Virgil  _ less _ and less often. He was no idiot. This was always the first sign a relationship was dying.

That was fine, of course. It wasn't either of their faults. People changed and friendships fell apart. Virgil should be happy his friend was getting to hang out with his queerplatonic crushes. Virgil  _ was _ happy.

Because he loved Patton Charleton so much and in so many ways it hurt, and if leaving him hurt as well, what's a little more pain for the sake of a friend?

Patton was moving on. Virgil needed to let go.

It was selfish, he knew, but he let himself cry, just a little, before he firmly grabbed the emotions in a chokehold and strangled them. He needed to do this. For  _ Patton _ .

As soon as his eyes were no longer noticeably red, he walked out of the bathroom -just in time to see Patton and Logan sitting with their sides pressed together, talking animatedly to one another, faces so close their lips could brush if one of them so much as breathed too hard.

The image knocked the breath out of Virgil like a suckerpunch to the diaphragm, but the way Patton smiled at him pierced his heart as painfully as any arrow.

In fact, Virgil was sure an arrow would've hurt less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of first flashback: Virgil "misbehaved" (flashback does not say what he did) so Dee spanks him.
> 
> Summary of second flashback: Virgil calls Remus a pervert and refuses to apologize, so he and Dee fill the kitchen sink with water and repeatedly dunk Virgil's head under until he says sorry.
> 
> Why was this chapter (almost) late?
> 
> A) School. It takes up most of my time, and even when it isn't I'm usually too tired to write.
> 
> B) Nanowrimo is approaching, and I've been stressing and prepping for it. Unfortunately, this means that unless the gods of Motivation and Creativity are espevially benevolent this November, I most likely won't be able to update that month. I'm sorry.
> 
> C) This chapter was hard to write for me, personally. The chapter is titled this way for a reason. I've never been in a (romantic) abusive relationship, I've never been r*ped or sexually assaulted/harrassed, and I don't have PTSD/depression/anxiety. I do, however, have a kindasorta abusive mother, so I can draw from personal experience for some of it. Both flashbacks are personal experiences (the first is less one specific memory and more of a generalization of all of them; the second is from when I threw a toy at my aunt and refused to apologize, so they ...did that. Ah, good times) as well as the negative self-talk regarding emotions (as a result of constantly being told I was dramatic, overemotional, sensitive, etc.), the spiralling (repetitive, loud, hateful thoughts, wanting the emotion to stop, etc.), and the self-harm (I have never cut and don't intend to, but I have scratched, dug my nails in, bit my tongue/cheek/general hand-to-wrist area, pinched, and -once, in an especially bad spiral- punched/hit myself in the arms).
> 
> D) This leads me to my fourth reason: I wanted to get it right. As someone who doesn't go through half of what the characters in this story go through, I felt I owed it to them to portray their issues as accurately as possible. Most of my knowledge of PTSD (flashbacks, triggers, etc.) come from a YouTube channel called DissociaDID (they're great, btw, you should check them out). I also read medical articles about it, of course. Descriptions of panic attacks come from my friends (who do have anxiety and panic attacks). Most else -the negative self-talk, some of the abuse, etc.- comes from personal experience. Please, if I have misportrayed these mental illnesses in any way, let me know.
> 
> E) And my last reason: I'm terrified of messing this story up. The pacing, the worldbuilding, the delicate balance of plot and character development -it's difficult and stressful. Writing is hard and when I see a challenge I tend to procrastinate the sh*t out of it. I promise you, more worldbuilding regarding the wings is coming soon. I promise you, Logan's backstory is coming soon. I promise you, the angst is coming soon. I promise you, the romance is -actually, it isn't. This IS a slowburn, after all >:)
> 
> That's it, I think. I'd appreciate if you left a comment. Thanks for reading <3.


	8. Roman Makes Everything as Dramatic as Possible (And Patton Doesn't Have a Choice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in nearly five months! I got into a bit of a writing slump (as an aside, I only got to 5k on my NaNoWriMo. It sucks, but hopefully I'll do better next time).
> 
> Warnings: Self-hatred, victim blaming (Virgil @ himself), panic attack, mentions of child abuse, mentions of Deceit being a creep, vague allusion to forced underage drinking, unsympathetic Deceit, a dumb blond joke.

"Remy, we have a problem. A big problem. All the problems. Nothin' but problems. _Muchas problemos_. Did I mention we have a problem?"

Remy glanced up from his phone (brightness turned as low as it could go, as per usual), then glanced again when he saw the genuine panic in Roman's eyes. "What happened?" He asked, shutting the phone off and casting them both into the relative darkness of a bedroom with no light source except partially opened blinds. In the dark, Remy's wings took on an almost ethereal quality that Roman would absolutely apprecciate if he weren't freaking out so badly.

"Damien is coming back in a week and I have no idea what to do."

After Roman left the diner he sped to the apartment Remy was sharing with Thomas, Joan, and Talyn, let himself in (Remy had made a grave mistake in giving him a key), and practically kicked down the door to the older man's bedroom.

Remy sat up straight (sat up gay?) and patted the bed beside him. He knew how fucked up Damien was (perhaps better than anyone, considering they'd been fuckbuddies for a short while -something Remy had quickly cut off and refused to talk about beyond "Thank God I dodged _that_ bullet").

Roman ignored the gesture and continued talking, beginning to pace and wave his hands around frantically, words rushing out of him in one big exhale. "I mean, I know that Virgil and him were together, by which I mean I know the slimy fuck took advantage of and probably horribly abused the kid when he was fourteen years old -gods above, if you spend _any time_ around him it's _obvious-_ and Remus definitely insinuated that he wanted to see me _specifically_ and that he has something planned which is _never_ good- and if I let Damien anywhere _near_ Virgil without warning him first Patton might tear my head off -if Virgil doesn't do it first, that is, and he'd be _totally_ _fucking justified_ , but I just- I don't know what to _do_ and I have so much shit on my plate right now and I'm exhausted and I want this to _end_ and I don't want Damien anywhere near us but I can't see this ending well no matter _what I do_ -"

He's forced to pause by the unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on who you ask) fact that he must breathe; and he does, in quick, heaving gasp that look dangerously close to hyperventilation. His face is red and his eyes are watering, but he angrily wipes the tears away with his sleeves.

"Roman, hun," Remy says in that tone that Roman couldn't describe if he tried -soft but still holding all of Remy's sass. "You need to calm down."

Roman makes a sound like a strangled sob, or a growl, or both. " _How_? How can I calm down when my shithole of a brother and his asshole friend are gonna be here next week with my friends and I can't _do anything_ about it-"

"Hey," Remy cuts him off as Roman's voice grows panicked, chest heaving more quickly, definitely hyperventilating now. "Slow down a little. Sit down and we'll figure this out."

Roman, despite not believing him ( _How?_ was the question racing around his head. _How can I save my friends and stop Damien and how can this end well and how could **slowing down** possibly help me, help anyone?_) but he trusted Remy, perhaps more than he trusted himself, so he shut up, took a deep breath, and sat down.

Remy slung his arm and wing around Roman, leaning in close. The weight felt ... _comforting_. It reminded Roman so much of when they were tweens; those days when Remy was like an older brother to him (even more than he was now) and Roman would come to him with all his stress and problems and teenage angst.

And you know what Remy would do? He'd help Roman relax and solve the problem, even going so far as to write a five thousand word essay for him in one night (though Roman was still owed him to this very day). Remy had this _way_ about him that was contagious and impossible to ignore; Roman wasn't quite sure what to call it -confidence? Sass? Stress-less-ness?- but it was so _familiar_ and it made Roman feel like he was home again.

Roman leaned into the embrace, body going limp. "I'm sorry," he said, more out of instinct than fear that Remy was angry.

"No need to apologize, hun. Now, tell me the whole story, from the beginning."

"Right. So, Remus calls me and tells me to meet him at a diner we used to go to when we were really, really little -I think I told you about it once, _Eddie's Diner_ , remember?" Remy nods, and Roman barrels on. "I still don't know how the hell he got my number -maybe through one of our mutual friends or something? I don't know, I haven't even stopped long enough to be paranoid but now that I'm thinking about it that's _really_ unsetlling- anyway, he tells me-" He stops, swallows nervously, resisting the urge to lean further into Remy like a frightened child. He must not do a very good job of it (either that or Remy senses it with his Brother Instincts) because Remy's hold tightens.

Roman took a deep breath. "He tells me," he said, "That Damien is getting out of jail in a week -I didn't even know he was _in_ jail, but I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later- and that he plans to "visit" me and he sort of hinted at wanting to meet Virgil too? And I-" Roman holds out his hands, feeling frustrated and helpless beyond words. " _Don't know what the everloving fuck I'm supposed to do_."  
Remy nodded, frowning. "Okay, well, it sounds like the best thing you could do is warn Virgil before he finds out the hard way, and call the cops if Damien tries shit."

"Or I could just murder him."

"That works too," Remy said immediately. "But we're both too pretty for jail."

Roman snorted, the briefest of smiles appearing. Then a thought occured to him and he groaned, burying his hands in his hair. "How am I going to tell Virgil?" He saidd. "What if ...he hated me, before -maybe he still does, who knows- because of -well, lots of reasons, but Remus was one of them. What if he goes back to hating me after this?"

Remy was silent for a moment before he giggled softly (though if asked he'd say it was a Manly Chuckle), and very gently pulled Roman's hands out of his hair. "Ro, hun," he said just as gently, "No offense, but you really _are_ a dumb blond, aren't you?"

Roman gasped, hand flying to his collarbone like some delicate Victorian bride. "Ex- _cuse_ you?" He said, voice three octaves higher than normal. "I'm not even blond!"

"You're blond enough," Remy said, ruffling Roman's hair (which _had_ been blonde when he was a child, but had since dulled to a light brown with the occasional blond highlight). "And you _must_ be dumb if you think Virgil -or anyone, for that matter- would hate you for warning him that his abuser is coming to town."

Roman's nose scrunched up. "Well, when you put it like that it sounds dumb, but-" He huffed, aggravated, running his hand through his hair. "I dunno, just, what if this brings up old memories and he remembers why he hated me in the first place and he stops being my friend?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "He won't."

"But what if he does?"

"He won't."

"But what if he _does_?"

"He won't."

"But-"

"Roman! He _won't_."

"..."

" _Roman_."

"Okay, fine. But how do I tell him?"

"In person, probably. The same way you deliver any other bad news."

Roman thought for a moment. "Okay, he said, pushing Remy off of him to flex his wings. "I think I have a plan. Sort of."

"That's g-"

" _Shhhh_ ," he said, holding up a finger. "I need to make a call."

* * *

Virgil is better than he was a year ago.

He knows that. His sense of self-worth is slightly less non-existent. Panic attacks are at an all-time low, relatively speaking. Memories don't send him into spiralling, obsessive thought patterns (i.e, _I'm the absolute worst person on Earth and I don't deserve to live_ ). Most days he's strong enough to fight them off, so of course they come to him in his weakest moments and kick him when he's down.

Like now.

 _Five things you can see_ , Virgil thought. _Five things_.

1\. Walls painted black.

( _Patton's gone Patton's moving on your only friend left you-_ )

- _Shut up he didn't leave me it's not his fault_ -

2\. Gray-and-black blankets.

( _Alone alone like you knew you would be like you deserve-_ )

- _I don't deserve this I don't I'd like to think I'm worth at least a little more than a piece of dirt-_

3\. A stuffed kitten in his hands-

( _a gift from Patton stupid shouldn't keep it-_ )

- _shut up shut up shut up_ -

-bright purple with cartoonishly big eyes.

( _stupid stupid stupid why do you need a toy to calm you down what are you five years old-_ )

- _SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP_ -

4\. An MCR poster.

( _Maybe you really are too damaged for anyone but a monster to love maybe Dee was right-_ )

5\. The black-and-violet patchwork of the hoodie Roman had given him, still in its bag, on the bed next to him.

( _Ha Roman give you a gift out of the goodness of his heart? Yeah, right. Probably just using you for something horrible._ )

- _Roman wouldn't do that_ -

( _-Wouldn't he, though?-_ )

"Four things you can hear," Virgil said, speaking over his own thoughts.

1\. His own breathing, fast and harsh and painful.

( _Way too fast way too harsh way too painful you need to slow down calm down shut up and deal with it-_ )

2\. Outside, far off, someone was mowing their lawn.

( _Dee would've scoffed. "I don't know why you're crying," he'd say. "You knew it was coming." And he would've been right and you know it_ )

- _that's not true that's not true that's not true_ -

3\. His dad's TV, blaring loudly.

( _senseless boy haven't you learned anything?_ )

4\. The sheets being crumpled and moved beneath his weight.

( _haven't you been taught again and again that the people you love will leave you?_ )

- _that's not true_ -

( _oh, but isn't it?_ )

Memories, too many to count, all roundhouse kicked him in the face, one after the other. Virgil held back a sob, hand to his mouth, took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

"Three things you can feel," he whispered into his palm.

1\. His hoodie against his skin, heavy and warm and comforting.

( _you're so emotional_ )

- _shut up_ -

2\. The stuffed kitten in his hands, soft.

( _-worthless, stupid-_ )

3\. His own tears, wet and drying on his face.

(-weak-)

- _I am not_ -

"Two things you can smell," he said. _Almost done._

1\. The stuffed kitten, if he buried his face in it.

( _if you were strong then you wouldn't be sitting here crying and you wouldn't have fallen for Dee's tricks and you would've left the first time he hit you and you would've told somebody_ )

2\. Deodorant.

( _a strong person would've done that, and you didn't, so you're not strong, and if you're not strong then you're weak and nobody wants a weak, broken, sensitive, overdramatic crybaby for a friend, now do they? Especially not Patton_ )

- _don't you DARE Patton would never_ -

"One thing you can taste."

1\. His own skin, from when he'd bit his hand in an attempt to hold back his tears.

( _you're pathetic_ )

Virgil closed his eyes.

The end of a spiralling episode is hard to describe. The voices -screaming, fighting- quieted, and eventually, they stopped. Virgil felt like he could breathe again, even though he'd been breathing perfectly fine before.

It left him shaken and the voices echoed, _taunting_ , daring him to listen so they could pull him under and into another one, like sirens tempting sailors to their death.

Virgil flopped facefirst onto the bed, groaning muffled by his pillow. For a long moment, he just layed there, content to slowly suffocate. He did eventually sit up, but not without a lot of internal complaining. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the eyeshadow smeared across his pillow. "Ew." He reahced up and touched his face, grimacing when his fingers came away covered in a wet, crusty, black-gray mess.

Sighing, he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he saw his reflection he almost flinched. He looked horrible: pale skinned, red-rimmed eyes, eyeshadow smudged all over his cheeks, hair fluffed and tangled.

He sighed again as he began to wash his face and smooth out his hair a little. By the time he was done, he looked marginally better; his eyes were still red and puffy, and his hair was its usual tangled mess, but it wasn't as bad as it'd been before.

He decided against putting his eyeshadow back on; he wasn't going anywhere, so there was no point. Too exhausted to do anything else, he walked back into his room and flopped face-first onto the bed-

And his wing bumped the bag with Roman's gift in it, almost as if to remind him it was still there. The voices rose the moment he laid eyes on it, clamoring for attention, but he very firmly ignored them and pulled the hoodie out of its bag.

He had to admit, it was ...nice. It fit his aesthetic, it went with his wings, and it felt very soft. It looked bulky and heavy, something that would hide anything but his approximate form from view, which went well with his natural introversion, anxiety, and poor body image.  
Virgil went to take off his hoodie, but hesitated. He was still in the aftershocks of a mental breakdown, and his hoodie was a huge source of comfort for him. He couldn't explain _why_ , exactly, it just was, and he tended to freak out if it wasn't on or near him. And if he ever lost it? Yeah, that was a one-way ticket to panic attack town.

 _This is stupid_ , he thought, shaking his head. _It's just a piece of fabric. I can do this._

Before he could overthink it, he pulled it over his head.

The air met his skin and raised goosebumps, despite the relatively warm temperature of the room. He felt exposed, alone, and incredibly vulnerable, like a newborn chick when its parents left to hunt.

Virgil shivered and rushed to put on the new hoodie, just to get rid of that feeling.

 _Oh_ , he thought the moment it was settled. _This is nice_. It wasn't quite as comfortable as his old one, and it still had that distinctive New Hoodie feel to it, but it was soft and warm.

Virgil _loved_ it.

He traced the stitched-on violet patches; huffed an almost-laugh at the stormcloud with its lightning bolt; slowly ran his hands up and down the fabric. I could get used to this, he thought, wrapping his wings around himself and leaning back, engulfed by softness on all sides.

Then his phone started ringing.

He flinched, then frowned as he dug it out of his back pocket. _Who would call me? Not Patton, because he knows how anxious phone calls make me. That just leaves Logan, Roman, and my dad, but why would they ..._

Virgil looked at his screen. _Princey_ was there, name written below the profile picture Virgil had chosen for him (a crown enlaid with rubies; a little on the nose, he knew, but the opportunity had been impossible to pass up).

_Roman? Why would Roman call me? Did something happen? Is he okay? Is he just being annoying? Is-_

Confused, flustered, and anxious, Virgil answered the call.

"Wh-"

"Virgil!" Roman shouted. Virgil winced and pulled the phone a few inches away from his face. "Hey, guess what? My parents are out of town until Monday, and I was thinking you could come over to my house and we could have a movie night, make some popcorn, you know, the works. We'll be watching Disney, obviously, but-"

Virgil did what any sensible person with anxiety would do when they were in emotional turmoil and their arch-enemy-turned-friend(?) called in their usual dramatic way to ask for a sleepover.

He hung up.

He panicked, cursed, and immediately attempted to call back, but _of course_ he dropped the phone and it ended up half-way across the room like he'd football tossed it (why did that _always_ happen?). Virgil cursed again and scrambled toward it, practically falling off the bed and tripping not once, not twice, but _three times_ before he finally snatched it up.

Desperate, heart thumping, and sprawled out on the floor of his bedroom, Virgil called Roman back.

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I hung up by accident. Yeah, a sleepover sounds nice." _Shit shit shit why did I say that I did NOT plan to say that._ "Are you gonna pick me up or ..?"

"I'll pick you up. Be there in about fifteen minutes."

Then he hung up.

Virgil had about five seconds of complete stillness before he went into a frenzy. "Shit, shit, _fuck_ ," he whispered. Why did he agree to that? He'd just lost his best friend -he definitely wasn't in the mood for a _sleepover_. Not like he could take it back now!

He sighed. "Great."

And that's how Virgil ended up waiting for Roman to pick him up for a _sleepover_. God, what was he thinking? Right, he wasn't, because he never did and he should turn back now and he was going to mess _everything_ up-

Virgil took a deep breath, just barely catching himself on the egde of spiralling. He was not going to mess this up, and if he did it'd be okay. He could fix it. He had to believe in himself.

"Easier said than done," he muttered as Roman pulled into his driveway.

* * *

"Get up!"

Patton squeezed his eyes shut tighter. The very last thing he wanted to do was _get up_ -he felt like his bones had been weighed down with bricks- but if he didn't within the next two seconds there would be consequences.

He groaned and began to sit up. Not fast enough for his dad, apparently, because there was a hand clasped around his shoulder in the next instant. "I _said_ ," his dad hissed forcefully. "Get up." And he half-shoved, half-threw Patton off of the bed.

Patton managed to get his feet under him before he smacked into the floor, but it was a clumsy, unbalanced landing, and he fell anyway. He heard his father's retreating footsteps, and only then did he fully relax.

When Patton got home from his afternoon out with his friends, his mom had told him he'd be spending the night with his dad. He wasn't _angry_ , per se, but he was certainly frustrated that his mom had failed to stand up to her soon-to-be-ex-husband like she _always_ did. Now his dad was furious and would proceed to take it out on Patton all. Freaking. _Weekend_.

Patton gave a long-suffering sigh and pressed his forehead to the cool floor. They were in a hotel room -temporarily, his dad had been quick to add, just until he found a house. When they'd gotten here his dad had stepped out, claiming he'd be right back, but after thirty minutes or so Patton had stopped anxiously waiting for the door to open. He'd even dared to lay down and close his eyes.

Big mistake.

Blinking away the tiredness, Patton grabbed his glasses off the side table. Then he looked at his phone, checking the notifications. Still empty.

He frowned. Virgil had been acting strange ever since the diner. He hadn't even answered Patton's 'you okay?' message, which was weird since Virgil was never without his phone for more than thirty seconds.

It would be an understatement to say he was worried. Hurriedly, he typed a message:

_I'm staying in hotel room with dad. He's acting like a jerk._

Two seconds later, Virgil answered. Patton almost sighed in relief.

_You okay? Want me to kidnap you?_

_That's illegal_

_It's not illegal if it's consensual_

_Or for your own safety_

_Yeah, tell that the cops when they find us_

The door slammed open, and Patton hastily shoved his phone in his pocket and scrambled to his feet.

"Come on," his dad said, voice gruff, "It's time you earned your keep."

Patton grimaced internally. The last time his dad said something like that ...well, let's just say Patton's fight-or-flight instincts still went off when he smelled vodka.

Whatever his dad was planning, it wouldn't be good. Patton shuddered and followed him out the door.

He didn't have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed ;). Please leave a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> This a birthday gift for my friends so I'd greatly appreciate it if you kudos'd and left a comment telling them happy birthday!


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